


Point Me to Where Hope Is

by Mayhems_Anthem



Category: Little Witch Academia
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayhems_Anthem/pseuds/Mayhems_Anthem
Summary: A collection of one shots further exploring the possibilities of Prof. Croix and Chariot. Some will be longer than others, most are just me indulging in fantasies of two mature adults who do whatever they must to catch the best glimpse of their significant other.





	1. Metamorphie Vestesse

**Author's Note:**

> As I was re-watching the series, the final episode continued to just give so much in terms of details and little hints of habit and character, especially for the ever elusive Croix. Hopefully, I've managed to articulate my own thoughts concerning what I've discovered. Take care, cheers.

It had taken significantly less effort than she had feared to convince Croix to do this with her. Quite honestly, it came as a shock that the lilac haired woman even had her wand on her, considering her proud claims of abandoning traditional assets in her classes. Yet, Chariot knew her eyes did not deceive her. In firm, practiced hands, the white issued wand was rolled twice in lithe fingers, before being brought down to her side, ready to be drawn at any moment. A silent question was directed, and Chariot answered in turn, a gentle dip of her head.

After calling for the girls’ attention, the two took a quick breath in unison - essential for what they planned to do - and called upon magic and decade old habits to guide them through the spell work. The two older witches were tired, battered, and while she could not tell if Croix’s abilities had deteriorated over the years, her own magic certainly had, from a decade of proper use. What Chariot relied on though, was for each of their best talents to shine through, to complete the spell. 

In her Shiny Chariot days, it was undeniable that her magic was the brightest, the loudest and shiniest. Many would have assumed that she had practiced day and night to be able to properly create the largest possible glittering waves for her permances but the few that knew her best knew that her talent in magic meant that she required very little practice. When it didn’t concern academic reasons of course. Chariot naturally brightened everything she got her hands on, lightened up every spell that would have otherwise been dull and unremarkable. Unfortunately, that gave her a great setback, a lack of focus in even the most simplest of spells. It was likely one of the real reasons why she had never been able to be taken seriously as anything but a troublemaker. 

Unlike her though, Croix who had been hailed as a prodigy in their time, could accomplish everything that Chariot herself could not. The lilac witch had approached her spells with a laser focus that would have only given Chariot a headache. Precise, decisive, non-negotiable. All of those words could have easily been a footnote within every spell that Croix ever casted. When the older witch waved her wand, there was no question as to whether or not it would work - because there was no way that Croix would allow her desires to flippantly change in the middle of casting. Where Chariot surpassed Croix was not in imagination, creativity or ability when it came to spells, but perhaps simply in heart. Certainly, a grumpy teenage Croix would have only done the absolute minimum of whatever the professors demanded, whereas Chariot adored to add butterflies and anything she could possibly think of in her demonstrations.

Even now, a decade later, casting together with their remaining energies, it felt as if nothing had changed. Croix was quick to snap herself to stand taller, loosely rigid if that were possible, as if she were being evaluated by a professor. Chariot, on the other hand, made herself comfortable, shifting her weight however she pleased. If they had been asked to perform fusion magic, they would have already failed - but the two were in tune with one another, as if they remembered all the steps to a waltz once shared from an age ago. As Croix drew her wand hand up, it was sharp, as if she were cutting through doubt and misery, and the flick of her wrist, the finger that rested firmly along the surface of her wand, spoke volumes of the control that Croix put into her spell. As if she were the maestro of an orchestra. In response, Chariot neglected to add the note of finality that Croix put into her motions. As if she were casually drawing, she drew her wand up carefully, with a distinct lack of a flicker in her wrist. 

The two wands lightly tapped against one another, black and white colliding with an inaudible clash. As the two took another moment to regulate their breathing, to hear the other witch, their eyes locked on straight ahead - where the tip of their wands gathered the first magical particle. In seconds, magic had welled within the wands, the tips lighting up with a carefully tamed burst of energy. Where Croix’s wand held a light that was clearly outlined, Chariot held a wand whose gathered light glowed. 

“Metamorphie Vestesse!” 

… 

“Even when you’re running on the last of your energies, you couldn’t help but to make them shine, could you,” Croix remarked, though there was a lack of bitterness or mockery that was present in so many of their previous conversations. Chariot gave the other witch a proper once over, dirtied and bruised, Croix remained breathing evenly, a testament to the amount of magic she exercised. Which is to say, not all of it, or a lot at all. 

Still, Chariot smiled. “You don’t fool me, Croix.” Indeed, for Chariot, making them their new attires was really all she could have done. It was Croix who weaved both protection and enhancement methods into the supposedly rudimentary metamorphosis spell. Despite not taking the credit, out of guilt, Chariot assumed, the tender care Croix expressed for the students was obvious - even if only to Chariot herself. The gentle tease only served to remind Chariot that despite being the most ambitious witch to date, the older witch had a tender, humble heart deep beneath all the wrong decisions she'd made.

Standing before the possible end of the world, it dawned on them how it was honestly the cruelest joke imposed on the two of them. A decade old battle that had to be cleaned up after by their students because they were each too invested in themselves when they had been expected to step up to the task. Mistakes of their youth or not, they had completely failed, and now could only place their hopes in the next generation to carry the torch they had lit up, those many years ago. 

“We’re failures as teachers.”

Well, Chariot, epitome of hope and bringer of joy desperately thought otherwise, but could not find the right words to comfort Croix, or herself.


	2. Blinding Brilliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "... to think I was once blinded by your brilliance." - I think you are still very much taken by her brilliance, Croix. Let me make it so.

“ … to think I was once blinded by your brilliance.” Those words that had been spoken condescendingly, posed as daggers, meant to dig into the scars that just haven’t healed right. Croix had always been intelligent, in as many ways as possible, and psychological warfare was something she took the time to invest in when she had been fuming and scheming whilst Chariot took her leave from the stage. The lilac haired witch had known that their reunion was inevitable, and sought to prepare to deal the better blow. 

Despite whatever she had planned and said though, in truth, Chariot had remained formidable. The entire encounter in her lab had gone … better than she had hoped, and worse than she had feared, while she got her way, Chariot had still remained an obstacle, right up till everything fell apart. 

She had served her time both in prison and with the ministry, both for human and witches, and now sat watching the very person who she had planned to break for many years. Guilt gnawed at every weak spot in her person, every time those expressive eyes sought for her own greens, when her hand gently caressed her bare shoulders, carefully brushed the fringes, or whenever they shared a silent sheepish smile from across the room. 

There were so many words that had to be exchanged, apologies, pleas, explanations, and the like, and yet the two were too hesitant to do so. In place of the inevitable conversation, they had built a mighty wall, fortifying it with excuses of learning how to fly again, to revitalize the dormant potential that Chariot had neglected, or helping the school maintain a stable income of the unlocked magic that spilled worldwide. Despite everything they had done to try and distance themselves, to save themselves the awkwardness and fumbling, they always found the other in the corner of their eyes. 

Even now, when Croix knew that there were at least a few different notifications flying in to her systems, she found herself sitting under the shades of a tall tree, carefully watching - no, not affectionately or longingly, Akko - as Chariot underwent her breathing exercises while propped on her broom. Witches as experienced as Croix could easily feel the manipulation of magic that Chariot struggled to level out, but Croix knew intimately just how volatile and spontaneous Chariot’s magic tended to be. Even so, she was not here to encourage, or cheer for her. Chariot did not need that. 

As expected, after a particularly loud exhale, the grass parted, bending backwards from the force that Chariot exerted. While the witch had not left the ground, the rustle of the broom, taste of magic in the air that was Chariot flavored, told Croix everything. With a smile, neither sad nor bitter, Croix chuckled quietly under her breath. 

“As if I could truly be immune to your brilliance, Chariot,” and she watched on, as glowing petals accompanied Chariot as she took off lightly from the ground.


	3. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A silly indulging piece - and since I can't draw it out right now, I'll simply have to write it out.

When they finally found shelter from the unforgiving rain, they were soaked from head to toe. Taking a quick glimpse at the numerous shelves that lined the walls, the mold that grew between the wood on the floor, Chariot struggled to put a name to whatever run down shop they had all just stumbled through. It certainly wasn’t something that Chariot herself had ever visited, perhaps Croix … 

“Achew!” Turning to the other two who had come along for the trip, Chariot felt her heart clench at the sight of Akko and her red nose, chilled by the rain, her skinny frame shivering all over. A glance over at Diana also confirmed that she had been chilled as well, though she stubbornly refused to show any sign of discomfort. Knowing that both were either bound to complain loudly or stubbornly suffer in silence, Chariot set off the proper example. Shrugging off the - unflattering, as Croix would put it - drenched robe, Chariot was glad to find that her underclothing had remained relatively dry and was satisfied to find that the other two were following her example quickly. 

“Professor …” Diana began, hesitantly, and gave up, instead pointing behind Chariot, towards Croix. Preparing for an absolute disaster, she turned to see just what had Diana so worried. At first she sputtered, taking a few steps out of the way as Croix exaggeratedly flapped her red cloak - uncaring that the drops flew left and right aggressively. While the two younger witches were doing their best to avoid Croix’s rather harmless attacks - Chariot was worried. Unlike the two, she knew just how grumpy Croix could get, and how much she detested wondering outside without any purpose - which was what they were doing, letting Akko drag them around the Witch Markets ooh’ing and aah’ing all the while. 

“Tch. If you let me take the roombas … wouldn’t even have to worry about raining spiders …” Croix muttered as she adjusted the remaining straps that crossed over her torso and shoulders, satisfied that she had flung as many drops as she could from her cloak. “Thought you read stars for things like this Chariot … how long do we have to wait,” and Chariot would insist that Croix had been pouting at the time, her hands worriedly running through damp and limp lilac fringes, whatever hair product she was using obviously losing their effect against the rain. 

Chariot gave a sigh, a very Ursula sigh, and was to comment that while Astrology could certainly predict weather and even climate patterns, they weren’t used to measure weather like how Croix desired to. However before she could explain, Akko stepped forward to Croix and innocently blinked, staring with wonder in her eyes. Croix blinked back, gulped, and then inquired if something was wrong, her arms crossing and leaning her weight against her right leg. It was easy to tell that the older witch was likely on the last threads of her patience, just holding back so that the younger ones did not have to see the uglier side of herself.

“No, no I mean … I don’t think it’s something big but why are your shades still on, Croix-Sensei?” Akko tilted her head, and her expression became … obnoxious, “Who the hell wears shades in the rain, hehehe …”


	4. Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the missile stopped in time, they had a moment to simply breathe ... and look upon the sea of stars in the sky, that just so happened to illustrate just how great the distance between the two of them had become. What would it take to simply build a bridge to cross a river of stars?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who doesn't have their iPad in residence? Anyway, I envisioned that in the final episode when - what I assume/am making out to be is Yggdrasil's branches (and the Shiny Rod's Power of Love) - the stars fly around the globe the a cluster of them just so happened to run right between Croix and Chariot from above. - This may be something I'll continue, I have ideas, but I'll see what the reception is like before I start it.

“They did it …” At first it came out as a whisper, colored with disbelief. Neither witch would remember who said it first though. The second time this was said, it had definitely been Chariot who tearfully reaffirmed it - for the two of them, for the world, to hear. As stars - branches of Yggdrasil they knew - stretched across the world in an endless stream they remained captivated, utterly mesmerized by the miracle that the two of them had been unable to deliver all those years ago. 

Croix who had remained strong as Chariot’s struggle to contain her tears began to fail, dared to hope, to believe, that the streams that fell across the horizon may also substitute as the beginnings of the bridge that she sought to repair between the redhead and herself. Tearing her eyes away from the rain of stars, her eyes found Chariot’s, and had to pause when she saw tears clinging onto the corners of red rimmed eyes. Biting down the side of her mouth, and turning her head away, Croix struggled to find the words. Appropriate words. 

Just what was one supposed say when a decade long struggle against failure came to a close? Would it be too selfish to immediately share that she wished to atone, did she even have the right? Unfortunately, before Croix could find an answer to that, or properly address Chariot, her vision shook. The lilac haired witch knew that she let out some sort of strangled noise of confusion, and that Chariot had responded to it, but she couldn’t hear - at best it sounded far away, muted, covered … but she remembered that Chariot sounded worried, surprised. That was when her vision moved - but to where? The waterfall of stars were nowhere to be seen, and her mind was running overtime to figure out what happened, where she was, how to form words, how to … breathe … Chariot?

“Croix! Croix!” As much as Chariot cried, screamed and shook the unresponsive witch, nothing seemed to work. Placing her shaking and quivering hands upon the lilac haired witch’s arm, Chariot did her best to shake her awake … and eventually, even the redhead wasn’t sure if she was shaking from fear, or trying to shake Croix awake. Tears swam and fell freely as the younger of the two desperately cried, “Croix wake up!” 

Choking on her breath, Chariot was quick to scrambling up over the top half of Croix, thrusting a hand under the unconscious witch’s nose - trying not to pay attention to the fact that her eyes remained open, and so, so ... _no_. Chariot gave it a beat, then two, before her hands moved, still trembling as they folded over each other and trailed over to the center of Croix’s chest. Just before she began the first chest press, something red and black fluttered in the corner of her eyes. 

To her utter disbelief, a swarm of the cubes began to crowd and gather together. While they failed to assemble into anything, they made their way hastily towards Croix - towards the red fluid and staisn that seemed to hold their attentions and interests. Her stomach dropped, an empty void displaced within her heart just thinking of every horrible scenario, every scheme the evil cubes planned to do with her … with Croix. 

“Over my dead body1” Chariot cried, quickly clutching onto Croix, hauling the limp witch securely in her arms - further away from the cubes, the parasites. Hastily, drained or not, Chariot brought her wand up and a purple shimmer quickly bubbled around the two grounded witches. Unfortunately, the cubes were undeterred, throwing themselves fiercely against the waning shield every second, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the battle was won. 

Struggling to even out her breathing, thoughts swam freely in Chariot’s mind. One part of her mind kept track of the drain of magic in the wand, revival or Yggdrasil or not, if she hit her maximum capacity in conducting magic, there was nothing she could do, lest she risk the two of them falling into the hands of the sentient cubes. The other, delirious, shaken, corner of her mind marvelled at the soft body that she cradled close to her. Her vision swam, reality twisted, the purple shimmer of the barrier growing paler by the second as the horrifying image of imminent doom was replaced by the happy illusion of their younger selves, of a Croix who was merely napping in her arms, softly snoring. 

“Chariot!” A ghostly wail broke through. Although it dispelled the hallucination conjured by her fears, the rude awakening interrupted the spell, and the cubes crowed loudly, tasting victory at hand. 

“Diphulaniado!” A hoarse scream tore from Chariot, bracing herself for the recoil that would inflict on her and her depleted reserves. Nonetheless, her arms cradled Croix firmly, determined to keep every last pest from touching the downed witch. As Chariot fueled the spell, it burned her veins, and she was not above keeping silent. For every second that it took to keep the explosion fueled, to burn every last vermin, a long pain filled scream accompanied it. Agony echoed throughout the forest.

Chariot had long since lost her sense of time, failed to recognize what exactly was swimming in her blurred vision. It was only when the ethereal hand of Woodward caressed her face - an odd chilling breeze - that the burning in her limbs, heart, and lungs came to a stop. Taking heavy breaths, Chariot spent the remainder of her time awake staring down at Croix, crying, laughing, screaming … relieved. 

_“ … I’m not a nerd!”_

“Ha … Yes, yes you are,” Chariot cooed quietly, her one hand teasing their way into soft purple hair, “that’s why I …” she coughed, choking, “keep you safe.” 

_“You’re a midget, and you still trip if you try to climb the stairs two steps at a time.”_

“Not anymore … can carry you to the moon … just want to bring you home.” Chariot cried. Dipping her head down, gently, hesitantly, she pressed her bleeding, dry lips over Croix’s forehead, just beside the fringe that curled over her nose. Chariot fell silent shortly after, head painfully dipped down towards her chest, where she propped Croix’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation I guess, or at least me trying to excuse why I never pay attention to the technical stuff in the episodes. We always knew that there was a limit in the character's ability to dish out magic because it was a scarce resource, now that magic was virtually unlimited across the world so long as belief fueled it, there is no limit of any kind and I refuse to accept that. Wand mechanics aside, a witch has just as much work to do in terms of gathering magic to fuel a spell as much as the wand does. Since they still have human bodies, too much magic would eventually tear them apart. ((Essentially, the witch gathers appropriate measure of magic, the wand conducts and directs the focus.))


	5. United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chariot and Croix were content with the pace at which their relationship - friendship - was recovering. They were polite, kind, awkward, and hesitant, but the one thing that never changes - will never change - is how Croix will always end up standing beside Chariot. Or perhaps it was time that Chariot invited Croix back to her rightful place - beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this took the whole day. It's messy, as I'm playing around with a different kind of style but essentially I wished to cover two small details for both characters. One being Chariot's low self esteem, guilt ridden, self-depreciating nature (most often emulated by her Ursula facade) the other being Croix's reluctance to draw her wand - which, for this, I chalk it up as her believing that nothing could ever compare to Chariot's stunning heart. 
> 
> Just a chapter exploring how the two could potentially recover before anything naughty happen. Closure, after all, is very important.

“Croix! Hurry up, we’re going to miss it!” A childish voice cried loudly, prompting the lilac haired witch to grit her teeth, snapping her head in the direction of the impatient voice. Not that she could actually see where the redhead was, it was awfully dark, and despite the barren trees that lined the path they were supposedly taking, the moon’s light failed to provide adequate lighting, effectively trapping the two curfew breakers in relative darkness. Croix supposed that the name ‘Forbidden Forest’ was fitting after all, not only was it cursed, but it was also highly inconvenient to travel through. Now, where exactly was Chariot hollering from … ?

“Croix?” the tiny bubbly voice returned, all too close, beside Croix, inadvertently causing the witch to bite down on her tongue in fright. It took a few seconds to properly make out Chariot’s face and features, but Croix had no doubt that the redhead had the most adorable pout, a great measure of her impatience, on her face. “If you didn’t want to come, you didn’t have to force yourself …” Chariot began, stubbornly, and it truly would have convinced Croix of her sincerity if the redhead’s voice hadn't wavered at the very last second. Heaving a great sigh, Croix reached out and placed her hand on … well, she hoped that it was Chariot’s head - it certainly felt like the white hood at least.

Although she was sure that Chariot had just as much trouble seeing through the dark, it did not prevent a smile, of great affection and sorrow, from forming on Croix’s face as she silently reassured the redhead. The fact that Chariot was convinced that she was inconveniencing her, or that Croix lied, placed an unsettling weight in her stomach. The older witch had been witness to the many occurrences in which the redhead ventured forth in complete solitude - despite the heavy crowds that were always present whenever she performed for them. It hurt to think that Chariot would so easily dismiss Croix, believing that she could take her for granted, like many of their peers did. 

The one warming thought that kept Croix from addressing this directly was the fact that Chariot still pulled herself together to knock on her door, just minutes after curfew. Although the redhead had been quivering like a leaf in fearsome winds, so uncharacteristically shy, and foolish. So worried that Croix would turn her away, despite knowing that the lilac haired witch seldom let her down or passed up chances to remain with the redhead. Frankly, she wondered just how many more hints she’d have to drop on the redhead to convince her just how much Croix cherished her, although she had to admit that many of their two-faced peers were likely to blame for the deteriorating well-being of her friend. 

“Chariot,” Croix began, hoping with every fiber of her being that it didn’t sound as soft and disgusting as she feared it would. “I said I wanted to come,” she finished, with you went unsaid, but as the head under her hand dipped forward resolutely, Croix knew that the redhead had taken comfort in her words - though she remained unsure which gave her closure.  
“Then … hurry up!” The redhead cheered, innocently taking ahold of Croix’s hand. Despite Croix’s sputtering, tripping over some of the overgrown roots Chariot managed to avoid herself, the redhead continued on happily. Eventually, Croix’s complaints died off, replaced with a helpless smile, one that simply read as a ‘what can you do’, but there was absolutely no part of Croix that seemed to fight the redhead leading her deeper into the dark. If Chariot were to guide her, surely wherever they ended up in would be somewhere the dark had no claim. 

…

“ … Chariot, I’m sure whatever you’re planning to do can be done with a wand,” Croix’s tired gentle teasing came softly, yet it still startled the redhead who remained crouched over whatever she was up to. What Croix planned to say next fell short, jammed at the tip of her tongue when clear pools of mischievous wine colored eyes turned to her. It was just her luck that she had been leaning against the door frame because how was anyone supposed to not go weak in the knees when pure undiluted delight was directed at them? It took her breath away, just like it had those many years ago, but now that they had grown up, matured, Chariot managed to stir more than just admiration and affection within Croix. Coughing, Croix turned her head to the side. It was a weak attempt to hide the blush, but at least it gave her a chance to bite down on her lip, just managing to restrain the gasp of awe that did it’s best to claw through in place of her words. 

Concern immediately floored through Chariot, and it brought to her to her feet quickly enough, worried eyes searching for the cause of Croix’s silence as she approached her steadily. While Croix struggled to rein in her … what was it lust, love … emotions, she was taken by complete surprise when soft but strong hands wrapped around the forearm that was covering her mouth. Her attention flew right back at Chariot, without hesitation. 

“Croix?” Chariot called out, and Croix did her best to steadily breathe. It would not do to needlessly worry Chariot, and certainly not over something that she had a responsibility to handle and figure out herself. Managing what she hoped was a charming smile, Croix gently lowered their arms, waiting until Chariot drew her hand back to sweep back the naughty red strands that would have eventually caused the redhead discomfort - shocking that she remembered exactly how to do so. Though the action did cause the redhead to still, shocked. 

Realizing the redhead may have found it awkward, Croix stopped, fingers awkwardly brushed against the tantalizing soft red silk. The two pursed their lips, and struggled to find a way to pass whatever old wounds festered up. 

“S-So-”

“Do you … know how to use a lighter?” 

“Eh.” 

With a relieved smile, Chariot was quick to turn on her heel, wordlessly pulling away from fingers that were still lodged in her hair, silently beckoning Croix to follow back to her work site. When Croix prowled slowly towards the pile of colorful sticks, some longer than others, she realized what exactly Chariot had in mind and felt her smile even out, softly. Plastic wrappers were thrown about carelessly, and there was still many more that had to be opened up, surely Chariot needed more than just help with a lighter. Realizing that the witch was worried once again about unnecessary things, Croix quickly decided to set the record straight. 

“The lighter should be the least of your worries,” Croix made as if to reprimand the redhead, but was quick to crouch down and grab one of the packaged goods, easily pulling the plastic off of it. “Come on, the surprise’ll be ruined if they come back early or something, right?” Croix asked, accompanying the question with a lazy wink, and god help her when she was treated to the sight that was a flushed Chariot. 

Flustered, the younger witch could only follow Croix down, pushing aside the piles of plastic wrap at her feet to make room for herself. Grabbing one of the wrapped packages that still contained its prizes, Chariot took a moment to curl a strand of hair behind her hair, before shooting a look towards Croix. Shy lidded eyes, and sheepish smile - a signature Chariot smile that Croix took as her cue to turn back to ripping apart the plastic. Least she say or do anything she regretted. 

“Just …” 

… 

“ … make sure they can’t see us!” A hyper Chariot barely contained herself, her whisper didn’t even really count as a whisper. A flight of panic took off in Croix’s heart, prompting her to reach forward and press an urgent hand on top of the hooded redhead, she tried to shoot a stern look her way to top it off, too. Unfortunately for the lilac haired witch, the redhead was entirely too mesmerized by the gathering nests of faeries to pay any real attention to her warnings. 

“Chariot!” Croix hissed instead, “Hiding won’t matter if they can hear you,” she tired to press to the witch. Although her reprimand worked, for all of five seconds, Croix was relieved that the redhead had at least stopped her bouncing - the ruffling of leaves was something that was impossible to cover, after all. It was hard to truly scold her friend though, Croix considered, turning her head back forward, peeking through a thin layer of greens to catch the first of millions of lights that would fall upon the ground soon enough. 

“Croix! They’re here!” Chariot all but gasped, eyes sparkling as more and more firefly-like lights began to descend before their eyes. Lights of every color, some that their limited human eyes could not even put a name on, fell to the rare patches of healthy grass in the Forbidden Forest - creating a clearing of pure light, life. Before their eyes, the buzz of activity and urgency was obvious. Although the snowing lights were awfully alluring, the two were ultimately here for something so much more precious. 

Croix had her eyes set on one particular set of glowing lights, pure white in color and clustered together, but the lilac haired witch was confident that the headcount totaled to at least 5. Staring intently, it took a few minutes before any recognizable behavior made itself known to Croix. It started with the swaying and wavering that the larger two lights did as they circled around the smaller, and admittedly dimmer lights. Speaking of, turning her attention to the remaining three white spirits, it was easy to recognize the childlike excitement, the bouncing. It was all very much like … 

“Chariot, Chariot …” Croix whispered, pulling the redhead’s shoulder closer as she shuffled to make room. The two did their best to shuffle silently until they shared the peep-hole that Croix had been using, shoulder to shoulder. “There, the white ones, I think they’re the Lucky Faeries,” she shared.

“Eh. Ahh,” Chariot whisper-shouted quite suddenly, “Croix, Croix! To the right, from the white ones, they’re pink!” she exclaimed, unintentionally pushing against Croix, trying to get a better look. 

“O-Oi don’t push,” Croix cried helplessly, pushing back with all her might to catch a glimpse at the pink aforementioned faeries. “ … Those aren’t pink, they’re like … magenta,” she informed the younger, who let out a cry of disbelief. “It’s just … impossible, the pink ones are really rare, and different you know. They probably run a different migration period than all the other faeries.” Croix insisted. 

“No way!” Chariot stubbornly refused to accept it, “You’re super smart Croix, but there’s no way! That’s just … way too lonely,” Chariot continued, her voice turning a notch sad. “Why would anyone want to come back to an empty home,,” she continued, hollowly, though both witches had to suppress a pang of hurt that threatened to arise with the careless words. Chariot recovered first, with a cry of panic that surprised Croix to stumble back onto her bottom. 

“W-what’s wrong?” Croix questioned while Chariot seemed to be trying to best to crawl backwards, “hey, watch where you’re … auhg!” 

After rolling away from one another, untangling from the human pretzel they had become, Croix tried to get a good look at what exactly had spooked the younger witch. While the Forbidden Forest held many unspeakable horrors and monsters, according to the research and studies the two had previously made, such atrocities always seemed to take a break whenever the faeries returned from their migrations. While the faeries were small and often harmless, more helpful than hindering to any living existence really, even bigger monsters knew better than to come between parents and their nests of young spawns. Unless … the two of them were the ones who were deemed as monsters? 

Croix’s mind ran at unimaginable speeds, trying to figure which Leyline Terminal was the closest to fly through. Had it been a mistake to come out, to give into curiosity, to temptation? As Croix scrambled to haul Chariot to her feet, she was only stopped when Chariot trapped her in an iron grip, patiently waiting until her words got through to Croix.

“Eh?” 

“I said, look,” Chariot pointed downwards, and Croix followed, startled to find inquisitive bobbing heads and squishy looking lights rolling by their feet. Like she had discovered earlier, they all seemed to resemble Chariot in likeliness. Bravely foolish, inquisitive, daring. More than one had begun to climb onto their legs, others taking flight around them - highlighting them to the other fairies and spirits that soon took interest in them too. Despite the danger, Croix couldn’t help but to simply live in that particular moment, just as Chariot was. It was something right out of those trashy romance novels that she did her best to avoid in the library. A dark night held at bay by this small wonder, this small miracle of life, with no one to witness but the one person she couldn’t bear to be without. The only person who she would want to share this magical, otherworldly moment with. 

Despite the voice in her head that begged for just five more minutes of paradise, of this shared utopia, Croix worried, seeing the larger lights still … were they hostile, judging, did they find something worth judging? It was probably best to stop while they were ahead. Steeling herself, she was quick to grab ahold of Chariot’s hand, pulling the starry eyed witch from her awe and amazement.

“Their parents … I don’t think they …” Croix swallowed, “we should go. We’ve seen enough already, haven’t we? Better that they welcome us back with open arms than remember us as monsters or something,” she tried to persuade the redhead. Sadly, her words only seemed to be spark an idea, something amazing for sure but horrible as well. 

“Croix how could you say that! I am - we are - young and cute, why would anyone ever mistaken us for monsters!” Chariot asked, horribly offended. Turning down towards the very adventurous spirits still clinging onto them, she pointed at them, “no child would ever approach a monster like that, right?” Seeing that Croix remained unconvinced, the redhead frowned before a wide, beaming smile flashed. 

_Doki Doki_

“ … If you think about it,” she started off, unbuckling her wand from her belt. It extended itself soundlessly, a quick glance confirmed that the wand was full of magical energy. “Monsters only want to eat children and babies, if we were to make them laugh and smile … give them an unforgettable performance, what exactly would that make us?” 

Croix desperately wanted to answer her smartly, correctly, with the term pedophile, but there were much more pressing issues to try and stop before her need to sass Chariot. Struggling not to step over any of the young faeries, Croix lunged for the wand that just went through a loop, missed, second loop, missed, third loop - too late. 

“It’s their Happy Birthday after all!” 

… 

_BOOM_

_Sizzle Sizzle Sizzle_

Croix cringed, eyes watering from the unexpectedly bright charge that went off as the fuse finished burning up. With haste, she cleared her eyes with the back of her sleeve, tilting her head high up into the night sky instead to catch a glimpse of the fireworks that were already fading into nothingness. Despite not having seen them, she could tell they were a relative success, given the happy gasp from a few paces behind her, and the undeniable fumes of burnt … stuff that lingered. 

Footsteps neared and Croix turned her head over her shoulder, smiling at Chariot who was just nearly bouncing. While she wasn’t exactly emulating Akko or her younger self, there really was no way to describe the excited shifting of her feet as anything but bouncing. Proud that she could fulfill Chariot’s request, Croix turned over to continue with the next set of fireworks, lighter ready as she turned to Chariot for the go ahead. 

“How many do you think we’ll need to lure them out here?” Croix asked, thumbing the switch to tease out a proper fire.

“Diana should have already herded them back inside, and Akko would have demanded food a while ago,” Chariot mused aloud, “if you can find a bigger and louder one, maybe that’ll scare them enough to investigate,” she giggled, and Croix watched, almost in disbelief, at how the usual timid professor facade melted off completely, seemingly deaging her with every laugh that rang out into the night. 

A teasing sigh, “I’m afraid that’s not my area of expertise, Chariot. We both know that you were - still are - the best and brightest when it comes to making spectacular displays, if it were left to me, they’d complain all night about me being boring and cheap,” Croix said self-deprecatingly. It stung a little how true the words were, especially when she spoke them out loud, what killed her a little more was the absolutely hurt expression she caught reflecting on Chariot’s face. Why though? What lie was there that could have inflicted such an expression onto the redhead’s face? Unwilling to find out, Croix lit the fuse. 

Learning from her previous mistake, she was quick to jog back out of the immediate blast radius - just a step behind Chariot. Taking the cue to turn in time with Chariot, Croix was able to see the large fireworks properly this time, colorful, loud and in a variety of shapes - even words! It wasn’t magic, but it certainly held something magical about it. Standing beside Chariot who was still just as taken by the fireworks as she was the first time around, Croix had to admire the beauty and opportunity that the display created. 

Or at least the opportunity that still existed before a loud “SUGOI” was hollered from above. Turning away from the popping fireworks, emerald eyes were quick to locate Akko, standing on the balcony of the second floor, leaning dangerously over the railing. “Hey guys! Get out here, it’s not a murderer, you gotta see this, it’s so pretty!” _Why would you be the one checking out a potential murderer … ?_

Soon enough, their most rowdy students gathered around the balcony - where Akko was now proudly standing on the railing, flailing and reaching up every time a bright missile was fired up into the starless night. Many were decked out in their pajamas, smiling gently and laughing along with Akko’s excited cheers, no doubt tired after a day out. Chariot herself was torn between keeping an eye on Akko and enjoying the show herself, Croix supposed there was no harm in celebrating nothing. Especially when it meant she could revel in a bubbly Chariot for a week or so. Heh. 

“I don’t get it …” Croix heard, “why use money to buy the fireworks if magic works just fine? Better even?” Before a thought formed inside Croix though, it was Akko’s offended gasp - and consequent cough - that came through first. 

“Diana! That is so unromantic of you!” The brunette accused, ignoring the shocked confused that bloomed on the heiress’ face. “Besides, that’s so rude to the whole idea of magic,” she continued. “Is that how it’s going to be when you forget to get me a birthday gift? You’ll just magic one for me?” 

Ignoring the loud cries of offense, chokes of indignity, and uncontrollable laughter from above, Croix turned to Chariot, and something just broke seeing the redhead adopt the timid, chagrin expression that didn’t quite belong. It was an expression that frequently made itself known on Ursula Callistis’ face, but it did not belong on Chariot’s. The few times it did make itself known, Croix always had to fight the urge to do something drastic. It should pass though, right? That was the whole point of growing up and maturing after all … 

“Hehe … I guess I was just got too excited, didn’t I?” An embarrassed, small voice noted. 

…

Croix frowned. Before them - and the young giggling faeries - stood Professor Woodward. A stone-cold expression bore down on the two of them, silently judging, for what Croix couldn’t care less. The younglings ignored the ghostly spirit for the most part, finding much more intrigue in the two humans - one of which could cast pretty, loud, and bright lights! Although they had no idea why she stopped, and were now doing their best to make her spit out more. Croix envied their ability to actually ignore the old Professor in person, as the two were likely subjected to a harsh dressing down for ignoring the warnings to not disturb the faeries who were returning home with their young. 

Croix braced herself for a week long lecture, maybe some punishment too. She was definitely unhappy about it - though even she could not decern whether she was upset at the fact that they were caught, or that any form of punishment for something like this seemed like a pile of … how do they say … bullshit. Beside her, Chariot could only giggle awkwardly, a hand nervously reaching back to rub at the nape of her neck - not that she could since she had her white hood popped on. 

“It was expected for you - both of you - to have ignored the warnings,” Woodward eventually spoke, expression unchanging. “As you thought, no punishment would have been suitable for satisfying an innocent curiosity, a mere excursion to witness nature running its course.” At this though, Woodward’s expression hardened, and the two of them gulped. “It seems that it was beyond even me to predict that you would try and directly disturb their ritual and traditions, Chariot.” A flinch. 

Biting down on the inside of her mouth, Croix came to a decision. The spirits that clung onto her sleeve cried out joyfully as they swung, jostled by Croix moving to retrieve her own wand. A brief spark of satisfaction bursted when she caught Woodward’s attentions - even if it wasn’t enough to prompt the spirit to actually speak and address her. A cold sweat broke through as she realized just what she planned to do. Who did she think she was? Chariot? What could she possibly do? 

A deep breath … 

… 

Tipping her ward upwards, Croix fixed her gaze forward, expression unmoving, ignoring Chariot’s confused inquiry. Responding to her magic, the unfired fireworks all lifted in unison, though it went unnoticed by the still-squabbling brats above them. Stirring her wand, almost uncharacteristically lazily, Croix watched with unparalleled concentration as the sticks all began to converge into each other. A sharp downward flick her wrist followed.

“Caelram Ravera”

Those who were watching were then treated to something quite spectacular. One individual was left breathless. On the surface of the sky, there was a lone streak that seemed be have been cut open, a white crack against the abyss of the night. The vault of heaven, revealed. It shone blindingly, and among the surprised mummering, concern began to arise. Before anyone could actually bring up a genuine complaint though, Croix continued, rolling through a set of wand movements. 

“Cerflore Illumanente” 

All the fireworks that had been summoned, seemed to wither away instantaneously, blown apart by the winds, what was seen in place of them were soft pulses that swam freely alongside the blinding horizon-flare-like-imitation. 

“Riaverre Vortisse” 

What happened after could only be described horribly by Akko. Each little pulse of light seemed to multiply, speeding forward into the gaping maw that was the white crack in the sky. It flew at a speed so fast that afterimages remained, as a path for the other pulses to follow. However, by the time those soft, innocent looking pulses reached the threshold into the unknown, they exploded. Much like a normal firework. It was a maelstrom, a mess of a galactic swirl that seemed to eat the light one by one - but delivered a worthy compensation that was fireworks, an endless stream until the very last pulse had been offered into the white abyss. 

“Whoa …” 

… 

An audience of younglings cried and awed over the spectacular display, uncaring that Croix fell over onto her knees and hands. Her wand ran empty, of course, but … a hand pressed onto her cheeks roughly, pulling her head up none too kindly, but Croix didn’t have the breath to complain. She was helpless against the worried gaze, the eyes that held fear and joy at the same time.

“Croix? Croix!” Chariot cried, shaking her. “Are you okay, can you talk?” She asked, running her other hand over Croix’s forehead, checking for … something. Panting hard, Croix only nodded, but made no move to escape from Chariot’s hold. Who in their right mind would dream about leaving the arms of an angel anyway? It was warm, and Croix could always use a little nap … 

“Croix! Stay with me, Croix!” 

“Mm,” Croix replied, eyes drooping. “Happy Birthday … right?” She slurred, forgetting the fight to remain upright - and awake. There was no need to do so anyway, open arms were right there in front of her, inviting her in. Falling forward, Croix happily borrowed her way to the warmest possible part of Chariot. It would be a great disappoint if she failed to capitalize on this opportunity anyway - squishing the younger witch for once that is. 

Just before the world was pulled from all her senses, Croix felt a hand run through her untamable lilac hair, a soft, feminine hand that expertly avoided the unkept knots and only really ruffled her nest hair. Comforting. “You’re the best, Croix. No one, absolutely no one could ever compare,” a genuine whisper, a hint of admiration, awe, adoration … love?

_“Love you!”_

Boy, she must be really tired … 

… 

“Do you believe it now?” Chariot asked quietly, having snuck up in front of Croix while the older witch admired her own work. The expression, the soft albeit tired smile easily told Croix that the redhead had also remembered the exact moment that brought them to this quiet nostalgic scene - ever reminded by the continuous hollering above them. 

“I can’t say that I know what you mean,” Croix tried to escape, shrugging her shoulders in her ever-arrogant manner. Palms opened, ever the exaggerating performer whenever Chariot was near. Whenever Chariot provided her enough comfort to free herself from fear of ridicule and speculation. What Croix did not expect - never would have expected - was for Chariot to bring one of those palms down with her own two hands, cradling the pale, trembling hand. 

_Doki Doki_

It was impossible to tell whether it was her own heart that began to beat rapidly, or Chariot’s, who brought her hand as close to her cleavage as was appropriate - obviously, not at all. Her mouth ran dry, every possible witty remark she had prepared were long lost for her attention had yet again been taken and trapped by Chariot, awaiting for her every word. 

“Croix,” a step closed the distance between them, “like I told you back then, your magic,” Chariot paused dipping her head under Croix’s chin, “your heart …”, was that rain that fell onto her collarbone … “is so beautiful, so precious, don’t you know, Croix …” with trembling lips, Croix pulled Chariot close, arms tight around the redhead’s strong, but thin shoulders. “It’s still so beautiful, you are still the very best … ”

“You are loved, Croix. So very much … please believe it,” Chariot wept, whispering brokenly. 

“I do, Chariot, I think I can start to,” Croix replied, her throat burning with every word, tears clinging stubbornly even as a peaceful smile stretched across her face. “Thank you, thank you so much …” the lilac haired witch tilted her head, pressing her forehead down to meet Chariot’s. “Thank you for giving me everything I ever needed, thank you for your perfect heart,” Croix whispered back, doing her best to keep her voice even, to stay strong while Chariot did her best to pull herself together. 

The two remained there, foreheads pressed, noses occasionally brushing against one another. Staring stupidly into each other’s eyes, a million words, a billion possibilities, exchanged silently, contently. Among the hundreds of desires, truths, and wishes - the only one they absolutely refused to contemplate was the joining of lips. That would come at another time. For now, they were happy to remain in their embrace, silently, hypothetically, mending the rift, the chasm, that had torn them apart for far too long. It pained them to not cover just one more step, but the peace their hearts had finally found was worth it. 

… 

“CROIX-SENSEI! YOU CAN’T JUST LITTER ALL OVER THE PLACE!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No kisses. Kek. 
> 
> If you give me Kudos and Comments, I can probably arrange something though. *Slides shades on* Confusion or lost people can be directed in the comments. 
> 
> TL;DR: Young!Chariot and Young!Croix break curfew to witness the fairies coming back with their newly born babies. It's magical, and Chariot obviously wants to celebrate with/for them, despite every good reason not to. The fairies, much like their bratty students, are completely floored by the display and her kind heart. However, specific people don't seem to be very impressed, further crippling the fragile Chariot, this is where Croix steps forward, defying both specific people cleanly and clearly. Older!Chariot and Older!Croix finally identify both the reason for Croix's defiance, and Chariot's crush/love/admiration despite whatever Croix thinks.


	6. A Deep Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the two of them, overthinking was habit they shared. The best way to clear out every doubt and worry? A deep breath ... and surely, what they want, need, and desire will be clear to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drastically shorter, but no lesser in quality, I hope! A warning for anyone who may have been/are still (emotionally) affected by life endangering accidents applies here! I promised a kiss, and I have delivered - however teasingly, thank you for the support!

Croix had been out purchasing essential everyday needs when she happened to find Chariot. The lilac haired woman had felt rather out of place, severely underdressed, in the presence of the redhead - she just so happened to have grabbed the conveniently placed nomad-looking clothes that had become something more of a comfort since spending her time in captivity wearing them. Chariot on the other hand had been dolled up to the nines. Gone were the robes that hid her well groomed and maintained figure, instead, she was dressed comfortably, and fashionably, in whatever she pleased. Eyes turned and students, she recognized, seemed to find very attractive side to their Professor. 

Realizing that an inevitable awkward collision may be unavoidable, Croix did her best to busy herself with … just about anything that could be considered interesting around her. It was a little hard to manage, carrying a heavy paper bag that held her precious cargo, but she could at least still crane her head to admire the stones that lined up the path she took. Right? 

Braving a glance upwards, Croix’s heart leapt to her throat when she found the intense, burning gaze of Chariot staring right back at her. Had the redhead no sense of tact? She was near impossible to read at the moment, and despite every particle in her being pleading for her to avert her gaze, there was nothing that could have possibly persuaded her to do so. The phrase, easier said than done, came to mind when she thought of her chances of avoiding, or passing by the redhead quietly. Chariot had been wanting to speak with her for quite some time - and Croix had been the one who offered excuse after excuse … it seemed like there were no more left to offer now. 

Gulping as the redhead approached her with a warm smile - did it just so happen to carry a touch of deceit though? Croix did her best to return the smile, although judging by the redhead’s dimmed expression, it obviously failed, upsetting the younger witch. Shuffling to minimize her discomfort, Croix allowed the redhead to come as close as she dared before properly greeting her.

“Did something good happen? It’s rare to find you outside Luna Nova,” Croix said, her heart evening itself out. It was a good icebreaker, a polite inquiry to what Chariot was up to, a hidden compliment even managed to slipped into that - but Croix would not dare to directly comment on her … anything. It would be far to dangerous to allow her heart free reign while she remained indecisive about what or how she planned to approach Chariot and their … unclear boundaries. 

“I just figured it was a nice day to soak up some sunlight,” Chariot replied, allowing her glance to move upwards for just the briefest of moments, accenting how the weather was truly amiable. “If this nice weather managed to drag you out before noon, it must be a really special day,” the redhead continued, teasing very lightly - as if she were a child testing if the shallow waters were still, and Croix allowed a smile to be offered. It had been a step in the right direction to repairing the distance between them, the ease of which the redhead felt she could address and speak to Croix had laid the grounds for many of their small talks and conversations - and more importantly, it lit a fire in her heart, warming her, knowing that she and Chariot may very well be able to enjoy themselves without having to fear of old wounds.

“Do you need any help with that?” Startled out of her inner monologue, the grip Croix had on her cargo tightened - creating an ugly rattling of paper - while she stumble a step back, then two when her balance shifted. When she finally caught herself with a small relieved breath, she opened her mouth to reply, turning her gaze back up to Chariot - but words died in her mouth as she struggled to properly find the cause of the disheartened, hopeless expression had been adopted to her features. What happened? The hand that the redhead had offered out, rolled up into a fist, trembling as it returned to her side. With trembling lips that pulled back into a hurt and embarrassed smile, Croix’s heart despaired - knowing that whatever happened was likely something that she had done in some way. 

“I guess you’re really busy after all,” the redhead offered the excuse for the two of them to use this time, “what was I thinking, you’re Croix after all!” With that an awkward silence followed, and before long, the redhead turned on her heel - head bowed dejectedly. “I’ll see you later back at Luna Nova, right Croix?” she asked in a small voice, truly fearful that she had been the one who offended the lilac haired witch. 

“Yes … Yes of course,” Croix managed to croak out, and she was prepared to apologize, to invite the redhead - anything to make sure what happened didn’t damage the precious progres they had made so far. Unfortunately, just as the words came to mind, the redhead had already taken her first step right into … 

**_“CHARIOT!”_ **

Tires scratched upon the pavement, the stench of burned rubber intoxicated the air instantaneously, and the vehicle itself swerved dangerously, it’s front and back rocking aggressively in tune with the maneuvers the panicking driver was commandeering it into. The people that had filled the streets moments ago all let out a cry of surprise, those that were in immediate danger were quick to jump and throw themselves out of the way, others gathering around the wounded parties to offer their assistance. 

As for Croix, her finger taken damage - likely bruised in an ugly mucky green and black color - but that was more than acceptable, especially when she got to keep Chariot’s life in return. The redhead was currently tucked tightly into Croix’s embrace, the lilac haired witch’s thin and weak arm wrapped securely around the shorter woman’s waist, above the decorative belt where her finger had miraculously latched onto when Chariot had recklessly charged into the road without properly looking both ways. 

Now that they were both grounded, literally sitting on the ground from the force Croix had used to pull them both back into relative safety, and in no danger of falling due to weakened knees, Croix indulged in the opportunity, the deep desire that she came to realize - and now acknowledge - after the harrowing scene that played before her eyes. An acutely distressing tragedy that nearly unfolded had she not taken those steps to reach out for the redhead. 

Now that said redhead was wrapped securely in her arms, pressed against herself, the reality of the situation fell heavily onto her … but it wasn’t what she expected. Dread and fear did not accompany this eventual possibility - relief, anguish - the good kind, and joy were the first of emotions that came to mind when it finally hit her that Chariot was safely tucked against her. Not a body left to chill on the road, in a puddle of … 

Eager to shake her mind from any further horrors, Croix leaned forward and pressed her nose against fiery locks, inhaling the scent of Chariot - unexplainable really, as the redhead often changed her conditioner, but it was undeniably Chariot. Soft, well kept locks brushed against her skin just the way it used to, and Chariot even squirmed the exact same way too - too embarrassed of being cuddled and nuzzled in such a manner. Croix wouldn’t give her a chance to escape this though - the lilac haired witch still shook, the arm that kept the younger witch pressed to her trembled uncontrollably. There was a real fear that if she let go now, if Croix somehow released her, that the redhead would slip between her fingers - like a cruel, cruel dream.

Blinking slowly, unminding that she felt the onslaught of light headedness, Croix pressed unmoving lips onto the back of Chariot’s head - against silky soft hair - before laying her head onto the shoulders that still quaked with every uneven breath the redhead took. Pressing her cheek onto cold, chilled skin, Croix gave the redhead a moment to try and collect herself before she knew she had to help, muttered quietly, “Breathe in, Chariot,” she commanded gently, “hold it for a few seconds … and out,” Croix gently cooed and coaxed for the redhead to heed her commands, regulating her progress using the eventually still shoulders as a benchmark. 

It had been quite some time since she last remembered Chariot choking up like that, so shocked and so stricken but as always, when the redhead managed to come back to compose herself, the gentle, weak wavering of her eyes still managed to capture her heart. It was a precious heart she had to protect, it was demanded of her. Moving her arms to wrap around Chariot’s shoulders, pulling her in for a proper embrace, Croix managed to drop a long, undeniably romantically inclined kiss onto the redhead’s cheek - stirring life into her once more. 

“Come on,” Croix prompted lightly, squeezing firm biceps with her lithe fingers, somehow not gasping wantonly when she did so, “we can stop by and grab something to eat before we go back … you’re open to treating your savior to dinner, right?”

A paused, but Croix smiled when she heard the strong, confident voice reply, “more than one dinner.” 

“Then we better get moving, shouldn’t we?”

There really was no good explanation as to why Croix felt the mighty need to keep herself wrapped around Chariot’s arm for the remainder of the day - even when they walked out through the Leyline Terminals. Croix would admit to nothing. Chariot would only smile, proudly and gaze stupidly at the lilac haired woman, who would lazily wink in response. The two were still reluctant to talk, but fear of rejection was no longer a problem between the two of them. Their intentions were rather clear - the only thing standing between them seemed to be the fact that they didn’t know how far they wished to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue may have been sparse, but I do plan on having a follow up to go along with this piece - something that'll deliver the "are you alright", "are you sure" that I didn't believe fit right with this one. Thank you for taking the time to read this, stay safe folks! 
> 
> As per xswordeyesx12's inquiry, I've decided to open up and take some requests - which will be a first time for me, so I hope I can deliver. If you're interested, drop a comment or hit me up on my tumblr: https://we-can-all-wakeup.tumblr.com/ask 
> 
> Take care!


	7. Blurred Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rigid lines were never meant to last forever - and certainly not when it concerned Chariot. A small exploration as to how she might have to manage when the lines she had drawn are taken apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you do anything, check out what themintyone managed to whip up! http://themintyone.tumblr.com/image/165483078725 - seriously check it out, it's the sexy classy Croix we've all been dreaming about ;) 
> 
> When I skim through like section by section, it seems just fine, however I cannot guarantee that the flow of the story will make sense for this one. For some reason, like many of the other authors, I find it much easier to write Croix than Chariot - and it's something that I'm desperately trying to fix and practice at! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Ursula was timid, she was uncertain about many things, and treated confrontation like a disease. Regret, duty and responsibility were the heavy chains that kept her a prisoner to her own guilt - rendering her unable to form connections that would have otherwise added meaningful purpose into her life. Until of course, the unthinkable did happen. As her shackles had been torn apart by acceptance and validation, she was soon freed from the punishment she inflicted upon herself a lifetime ago … but had she truly been freed? Ursula was only one part of her that had remained when Chariot had done her best to cut herself out from the world when she had committed crimes and wrongs too horrible to properly be forgiven for. If Ursula had been freed, what was the rest of Chariot supposed to do? 

“You’ve been staring for a while … do I have something on my face?” Croix asked, gently stirring Chariot from her thoughts. The redhead blinked once, coming back to her senses before she reeled herself back, confusing the lilac haired witch. “Are you ok? You haven’t been skipping your meals have you, I thought only I had the privilege to do so,” the older witch joked with a light laugh, and though the redhead returned with a chuckle, her inner thoughts had taken a new direction. 

Skipping meals … now that brought up a whole slew of fond memories Chariot had - the few that helped her through sleepless nights. Even at a young age, Croix had an unhealthy habit of staying up late, missing meal times and resorting to crappy, instant food that lacked any kind of nutrients. A symptom of being a genius, the taller witch had deadpanned, and from that point on Chariot had made it her personal mission to limit the intake of fake food as much as possible. One part to make sure her best friend made it past the age of 20 and the other, to keep her inflated ego in check. She remembered the unlimited number of complaints she had every time she snuck food into Croix’s room, laughing as she did so - remarking that she felt more like her mother, or sister, than an underclassmen. 

Now though? A decade later, and Croix still admitted to living with fake food as a essential part of her diet, but she didn’t need Chariot - or anyone - to coddle and try and regulate her meals. The older witch had grown up - had long since needed, or even wanted perhaps, the redhead to hover over her shoulder. Croix was old enough, smart enough, to make proper decisions, or at least know where and when to seek help if she needed it. That was part of growing up. 

So it thoroughly terrified the redhead when it began to dawn on her that perhaps Chariot no longer had a place - in the present, in Croix’s life, in place of Ursula whom many had begun to, or wholeheartedly, accepted - omission of truth and all. Chariot du Nord had been killed - cut away - a decade ago, and Ursula had been meant to take her place however best she could. Where was Chariot du Nord supposed to fit in now, when all that she had known, knew, loved and hated seemed to have moved on without her? 

The entire table shook in Chariot’s haste to remove herself from her chair. Croix immediately placed her book down, concerned, but hesitant. Good. Flashing … an expression, anything that wasn’t completely breaking down in front of the older witch, Chariot spilled something that sounded like ‘I need to go’ - she’d later learn that she had in fact said ‘i’m going to blow up’ - and left the library with acrobatic ingenuity. 

For the next few weeks, Chariot had been unconsolable. Many had begun to refer to the sudden change as her reverting back to her Ursula facade, which only drove the wedge between the two distinctively difficult identities apart even further through the chasm of confusion. In Chariot’s mind she had gradually began to accept that there never really was two people - it was only ever Chariot who grew cowardly enough to shed her name and face when the going got too tough, and now struggled to brave through this new world that had forgotten or no longer cared for her. It was a slow process, albeit a steady one, had a student not mistakenly called out “Professor Ursula” and unintentionally drove a critical point home. 

There was no need for Chariot to exist in this world. 

… 

“Croix-Sensei … why do you never call ... Chariot-Sensei as ‘Ursula’?” Akko asked innocently, and Chariot who had been lurking through supposedly less frequented hallways had to pause. A long war waged within her, because she had to truly decide whether or not she could live with knowing what the two arguably most important people had to say about her, about Chariot. Was she strong enough to hear what Croix had to share - what the lilac haired witch may say, the good and bad, of Chariot? Strong enough to suffer through another decade of self inflicted punishment if Akko’s morale compass pointed away from her?

“Because,” Croix replied in a light tone, “Chariot is Chariot.” 

“I don’t get it!” 

“Mm …” Croix pondered for a moment, and Chariot could hear her heart hammer louder with every second that passed by, tapping in time with the impatient foot-taps Akko had taken to performing. “I guess the Chariot you remember was … hyper, bubbly, strong … just like you, I suppose,” a giggle, “but you also know ‘Ursula’ - that just means that you also know that Chariot can cry and mess up sometimes, too.” Akko made a hum of … something, confusion likely but Croix was quick to add in. “Maybe it’s easier to think of her heart.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Chariot has a heart that is capable of believing, loving, caring, and remembering … and like any human being, it is also capable … or susceptible, to despair, guilt, fear and the whole package,” Croix explained, “as far I see, none of that has changed. Chariot still has a heart that is forgiving, optimistic, and very precious to me. Even if she decided to call herself Ursula, her heart never changed, right? At the end of the day, it’s still Chariot who finds the book you need at two in the morning, the same Chariot who always spends her time with me in the library even if I’m not really paying attention to her.” 

“Hehe. I guess it was obvious to you, Croix-Sensei, if you loved her heart, it wouldn’t matter what name she took, as long as you remember why you loved her.”

“That’s right,” Croix replied, tenderly, “Chariot is Chariot - nothing in the world could come between us if I’m looking for that precious heart of hers.” 

Sniff

Eh? 

Turning to the source of the distressing noise, Croix’s heart dropped when she saw the sight of Chariot, crying - bawling really - and desperately trying to stop her tears with an already soaked sleeve. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, some more serious than others, but the lilac haired witch found that she could really do nothing of note, except for panicking and trying to get a proper look at Chariot’s face - fighting stronger arms that had come up to cover a tear stained face. 

Good god why did the redhead always become such an adorable turtled up shy mess when tears were involved? Croix had half the mind to leave her be, knowing that the redhead would eventually get sleepy and demand to be carried back to her room - if they had still been children, that is. As of right now, Croix was dealing with a complete unknown, and the idea of leaving Chariot who was still crying just seemed all sorts of wrong. 

Eventually, quickly enough, Croix was able to convince the redhead to lower her arms, revealing a rather red face - but god damn if the years hadn’t been generous to the redhead. Croix had seen references and heard of people who were supposedly ‘beautiful criers’ but she had a feeling that none of them could ever hold a candle to Chariot. Lashes fluttered quickly, determined to hold any further tears at bay, her breaths were short, likely still trying to even out the pace of her heart. The most gorgeous detail of all, that captivated and deprived Croix of her ability to speak, was the glistening that had taken over the red wines of Chariot’s eyes when the redhead finally dared to flicker her gaze to meet Croix’s. They weren’t merely pools of sorrow, or helplessness - it was life that she saw within those charming eyes, a glitter of hope and uncensored joy. 

If only she could have been blessed with years to simply burn the image into her head … 

Sadly though, their moment was quickly ruined by whispers and jeers that had begun to increase in volume. 

“She made her cry~” A taunt broke through clearly, and though Croix tried to glare at whoever insinuated that, Chariot let out a incriminating sniff once again, setting panic off in Croix’s heart once more, prompting the older witch to grip down firmly on the arms she had taken ahold of. “Croix-Sensei is a bully~” 

The smallest of smiles broke through on Chariot’s face - and while Croix was relieved, she could certainly do without the lies that were being shouted overhead. “Croix-Sensei is breaking her heart~”

Before Croix actually snapped and dispatched her roombas, arms slipped by her sides and pulled her into a tight embrace - the kind that left you breathless when you realized that it wasn’t a dream or apparition that had touched upon you. Slender, toned arms rested at her waist, a face was pressed comfortably against her shoulder, the welcomed weight of a desired companion, feminine form of her would-be lover … it took Croix a few seconds to properly return the embrace, intimate, but shy of scandalous. It was definitely everything she had dreamed of - and more. Never would she have been able to imagine how warm, how full, how fulfilling a simple embrace could be. It must’ve been the “Chariot Effect” - the redhead’s hidden ability to make sure whatever she did, whatever she touched upon, received every bit of her love. 

And Croix definitely felt it. 

“Thank you, Croix.” 

“...Always, Chariot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found it really hard to try and somehow set up the proper scene for a proper Ursula/Chariot identity crisis that I really want to explore ... so another attempt will be made in the future once I get enough practice at writing and articulating my thoughts.
> 
> If you want a reference to a beautiful crier: http://superiady.tumblr.com/post/141776494673/bezzerrides-we-have-never-been-sisters-we
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read my attempts to get better at this! If you've got requests or ideas, feel free to drop one off here: https://we-can-all-wakeup.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> Take care!


	8. Tir Na Nog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I write a completely unorganized piece where I just really want them to kiss and finally get together, also includes elements of a short story I want to write for them, but can't work out the plans for it. So...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the thing I was working on for the last three days ... but I just really wanted to write this in particular. Especially after finding that someone had done a piano and violin duet for Dream Lantern - for [Kimi no Na Wa]. That's all the spoilers you're getting. Definitely my worst entry, disorganized, doesn't flow, horrible ending, uneven/lack of finesse in inserting ideas ahead - not at all looked over, grammar mistakes ga-lore.

“Sorry,” a heavy voice sighed as they walked through the doors to the headmistress’s office. All the other professors who were already present in the room silently turned, watching as the lilac haired witch seemed to struggle with the heavy oak doors before managing to slip by with an audible breath of exertion. While the many of the old guard seemed to silently appraise Croix, faces pulled into severe expressions, it was Chariot who hastily made her way over, silently padding, a delicate hand drawing both their attentions down to the arms that were still wrapped in white gauze. Seeing that the redhead worried herself needlessly over recovering wounds, Croix laid her own hands, cool and stiff, over softer, warmer hands. Silently reassuring, as she managed to draw bright reds up to meet her own smouldering emeralds. 

Breaking the two young witches from their silent exchange, Holbrooke coughed quietly to draw all eyes back onto her as she settled comfortably into her seat, giving the two young professors time to step back within the cluster in front of her desk. “Sorry to have called you all here so suddenly, but I did try and time this so that none of you would miss your classes,” Miranda began, “assuming that no problems arise from this, I hope to not keep you from it either,” she said as she brought her wand up, casting a blazing video frame up, showing the gathered professors of Luna Nova the view of a spectacularly majestic castle. Evidently, it wasn’t theirs, it seemed to reside atop of a cliff, inside the cliff, with the waves below clawing their way up with every crash against the formidable wall of rock and earth. Altogether, very new, but very old at the same time, a relic from ancient times, but none could figure out why Holbrooke would direct their attention, and demand their concern, regarding this. 

“Croix … Chariot, I’m going to have to ask that the two of you immediately investigate what kind of people have decided to occupy the castle, their intentions, names, the people who are associated with its revival,” Holbrooke informed the two, who jumped at the request. Confusion colored their expressions, but neither dared to question - or accept - immediately, it was Finneran who managed to pose the questions that were burning on everyone’s mind - ever prompt and direct, as she stepped forward. 

“Headmistress, are we perhaps being a little too paranoid? Have you come across information that warrants an immediate investigation?” 

At this, the longer recount of the situation came through. Apparently, Holbrooke had caught wind that another magical academy was in the works of being established further west. Normally, that was something to be celebrated, as the number of witches had been shortening with every passing generation. However, now that the branches of Yggdrasil had revitalized, their world brimming once more with great amounts of pure, undiluted, magic, the possibility of someone trying to harness or manipulate an entire generation of young witches for whatever nefarious plan was something she just couldn’t ignore. Seeing that many of the older witches had turned their gaze upon Croix at this point, Holbrooke continued forward with an easy going smile. “Not to mention, if they’re serious about opening up shop so close to us, we might have to start figuring out how to beat down our competition while they’re still trying to get started!” Immediately, cries of surprise, chuckles, and choked breaths were heard all around, Holbrooke would weather the outrage though - at least little Croix wouldn’t have to deal with the eyes of those who would blatantly call her a traitor. 

Later, when only Croix and Chariot remained in the chamber, Holbrooke began to explain further what she wished for them to find out about. Seeing that the two had yet to agree or make noises of complaint, the short woman stopped, tilting her head and asked whatever was wrong with them. 

“Headmistress, Croix has just begun to recover,” Chariot began, cutting Croix off. “I’d hate for her to reopen her wounds, or to stop whatever progress she’s managed so far,” the redhead admitted her concern, notably looking away from the lilac haired witches expression, which spoke volumes of her own opinion on the matter of her health. “I’m sure that I, alone, am capable if I am just to return with an account of what I see and hear.” 

“I’m recovering, not crippled,” Croix interjected before Holbrooke could seriously consider the request, her voice gentle despite the light frown on her face. She gave the shorter redhead a disapproving glance before turning once more to Holbrooke. “I happened to be reading about this myself when I was confined to bedrest, so I can already outline some of what I’ve found for you by the end of the day if you’d like, headmistress,” Croix began, but then paused before speaking once more. “I assume that you want us to attend the ceremony they have lined up for tonight, right? Not just to break in illegally?” 

“Of course! Why would I ever ask that of you?” Holbrooke replied, confusion clear in her tone - missing the quick exchange of eyes that Chariot and Croix shared when the lilac haired witch had to glance down at the red faced witch, who clearly had been thinking along those lines. “I got an invitation myself, but … we both know that these old bones just aren’t as strong, or energetic as they once were. You younglings will rise to the task perfectly,” the old woman smiled warmly. “Despite what concerns I brought up, you two do try and have some fun while you’re out there, got it?” 

…

“... Blue hair again? I thought you decided to …” Croix paused, catching herself, and watched carefully for a reaction to her careless words, but Chariot seemed unconcerned about it, only running a hand through the blue locks she had supposedly sworn off, catching and straightening some knots that had formed when a rather harsh gust of wind blew by. When the two witches looked gazes, Croix had to work to prevent her jaw from dropping, because gone were the red rubies she was so used to seeing, and in their place, a blue pink nebula like color bled clear.

“Mm, I thought that I wouldn’t need to do this again too, but …” Chariot glanced to the side, with a smile, “it just seemed like a really bad idea to go walking through the gates and have everyone recognize me immediately,” the witch explained, and did her best to squint in the dark cover of the night at Croix. “Maybe we should get going … it’s so dark out that I can’t hardly see you, Croix.” Chariot suggested as she stepped closer, hand lightly resting upon the lone broom they decided to use for their entire trip. At the prompt though, Croix became aware of why the redhead initially suggested that she be the designated driver/flyer. 

“Are you going to be alright with those contacts?” The lilac haired witch asked, unwilling to move an inch until she received a clear answer. Chariot didn’t need glasses, those had been part of her disguise, and sometimes just something she wore out of habit from having to do so for the last decade. For someone with perfect eyesight to suddenly slip on a pair of contact lenses … well Croix knew next to nothing about the technical details, she seldom used any to begin with and had no need to after a laser eye surgery. “Have you tried wearing them before?” 

“... Well, I’ve had them on since we left … after agreeing on the meeting time and all.” Chariot confessed, impatiently tapping on the broom that had yet to lower for her. “I promise I won’t go anywhere without you,” she tried to compromise. 

“I’ll hold you onto that,” Croix promised, “so don’t complain when we’re holding hands trying to find the restroom.” With a shared laugh, Croix finally lowered the broom, allowing the both of them to hop on, and fly through the Leyline Terminal. 

… 

Taking light sips from the champagne flute she had swiped earlier, Croix took a moment to curl a disobedient strand of hair back behind her ear, but as she did so, a certain redhead entered her periphery. Parting her lips from the glass, she turned to the younger witch, trying to discern the problem. Lowering the flute onto a free space on the serving tables, Croix then turned entirely, giving Chariot her full attention, but oddly enough the redhead just seemed even more upset.

“Chariot?” Croix called out, her right hand coming up to cup the redhead’s cheek. “Are you getting dizzy? Cross eyed?” the lilac haired witch questioned, thumb drawing slow circles on smooth pale cheeks, as if trying to soothe whatever pained, and silenced, the usually animated redhead. How could she have just realized that the redhead had seemed more subdued than usual? Was she afraid? Tired? As Croix did her best to silently diagnose her, she was surprised when a bright flush made itself known, right under her thumb. Stilling herself, Croix openly stared. A blush?

“I’m alright,” Chariot managed to croak, and Croix was quick to brush off the usual excuses, the lies that were meant to try and pacify her. 

“No, you’re not, do you want to step out?” 

“No I’m not … I,” a deep breath, and a hand raised up to rub at her collarbone, Croix knew the truth was coming. “Remember how I said I couldn’t see you, back at Luna Nova?” A nod, “I didn’t get a chance to see what you decided to wear, I’m just … surprised, really surprised … l-like in a good way, you’re just really … beautiful, and I couldn’t help but to … sorry,” the redhead stammered, and Croix would only continue staring at the redhead whose blush only darkened with every second. The lilac haired witch knew that the years had been generous with her - allowing her to grow from the scrappy mess that she was into a lithe woman, but she had hardly done much to enhance what she had to begin with, tonight anyway. To think that the redhead found her … desirable, did strange things to her heart, and it prompted her to drop her arm back to the side, suddenly bashful.

Now that the two were silently blushing at one another, basking in realization of their mutual desires, Chariot decided to continue openly staring once again - as Croix had yet to raise a complaint, or move away. The older witch had decided to gel her hair more than she usually did, keeping the left side down firmly, almost flat against her scalp, and the remaining piece that usually curled at her chin was straightened. In all, the usual soft, inviting fluff of a nest her hair had been was replaced with slickened straight strands - a new, but sharp style for Croix. The most distracting part of it was that it left the witch’s neck bare, and Chariot was helpless to its allure as it made her question, countless times, what it would look like if she simply … pressed her lips there, and sucked. 

Desperate to abandon that train of though, Chariot decided to direct her eyes elsewhere, to admire something else that wouldn’t entice such desires, not in public anyway. Following down the older witch’s neck, Chariot’s breath hitched when she realized just how much cleavage Croix actually had on display. The lilac haired woman had gone with a black dress, it was long, and swept the floor every time she so much as turned herself to the side. Rather than having straps, the topmost portion of the dress was simply fur lined, as if substituting for a scarf or shawl, as each end rested just above her breasts, with the whole dress coming together where a black decorative flower was resting at her hip. With a start, realizing that she had just been staring forward at the older woman’s chest, Chariot snapped her head to the side - it was hopeless to try and find a single part of Croix that was tempting, or downright gorgeous.

As Chariot broke the dream like trance they had both been stuck in, Croix felt a pang of sorrow when the redhead so sharply turned her head away. Had she found something that displeased her? Reaching out again to tilt a stubborn chin her way, this time Croix made sure she held shy eyes prisoner before speaking, without a drop of hesitation, denying any chance of misinterpretation, “I wish we were the only two in the room,” she began in a breathy whisper, “I wish there was nothing … no one … who could stop me from spending an eternity with you, anywhere, any time, just to watch you, see you, touch you … burn everything I find … I see into memory,” the lilac haired witch continued in a low, quiet voice, inching forward ever so slowly. 

The shyness that had taken hold of their eyes and heart had all but left, what was left was a pool of desire, want and need that burned strong in each of their eyes, but neither flinched or backed down. Having spent what felt like a lifetime being burned by “maybe”s and “not yet” the two were well acquainted with the fire that threatened to melt their very souls. Only difference was that this time, the two sought to finally give into it, to allow the fire to burn as it pleased, as long as the other witch rose to meet the challenge - burned just as strong they did.

However, before another step, a tilt of the head, or parting of lips could pull through, a loud buzz of commotion and opening of doors stole them away from the heavy, seductive, haze they’d built up. Beyond frustrated, Croix turned her head to assess what had ruined their moment, while Chariot kept a hand at her heart, peeking with minimal interest at what was going on behind Croix. 

“Witches!” A male voice boomed, and both frowned instantly, recognizing hostility and confrontation that poured from every syllable of the word the man had spat out. Any chance at sneaking away to live through their dreams were absolutely crushed, but the two kept that tragedy locked away until they could spare a moment to think back on it. There were much more potentially explosive problems right in front of them, after all. “We come to oppose this coven, this cult, you threaten to smear onto our lands!” ah, and he was backed by many suits too. 

Around them, several witches had instantly pulled their wands, a silent warning, but the leader of the commotion was undeterred. 

“Look!” He cried, to his people that stood beside him, to the now frightened individuals and families among the community of witches. “So quick to anger, such power in volatile hands … completely unchecked!” He roared, “They propose to gather followers, to indoctrinate our young, to hand them power, to twist their minds … and what next? To point them where they please?” He shook his head dramatically, “Have we not already lived through the hunts, ladies and gentlemen, are we to sit by and watch history repeat itself? Are we content to kill our young, our children, to sit idly by while-”

Whatever the man had planned to say next would forever be lost to the depths as the lights all burned out, engulfing them in darkness. Wands that had been posed and ready lit up, providing the only comfort of light, minimizing confusion as best as they could while mummers and even a few cries had broken out between the turn of events. Croix already had a plan ready though, as a cunning one-time villain meeting another, she knew how to work a crowd, or more precisely, she knew exactly who to call upon to work a crowd, someone who wished just as dearly as she did that no blood be spilled needlessly. Someone with a heart of pure gold, someone like … 

“Chariot?” Croix whispered brokenly as she realized the younger witch was nowhere to be seen. Turning herself frantically, she hoped to catch a spot of fiery red - no, blue! Sadly, there was simply nothing but an endless abyss at every corner, only shapes that moved, blurry outlines of figures that struggled to move within the dark as well. Which was Chariot though? Which was the one that she had lost to the dark, again? Where, where, where? Just as the lilac haired woman was ready to scream though, amidst the rising tension, over the crowing of the delusional morons, atop of anyone to find her precious ray of light … a series of chords - piano chords tore through the thick bloodlust sharply, with a light soprano chirp. Like a bell that chimed pleasantly through a rainy night.

All heads turned towards the source of it, to where the grand piano once was and was taken, absolutely mesmerized, bewitched, by the green butterflies that came to life with every note that was strung by the instrument. The slow lull of chords, of a soprano lullaby, had effortlessly ceased all dispute, held the words of angry individuals hostage, and demanded of its audience nothing but their absolute silence, their admiration, as magic and life continued to be borne of the loving melody. Compelled by an otherworldly urge, many stood and remained captured - the sole exception was the young lilac haired woman herself, for she of all people could recognize the piece that she had written herself, and taught only to one, treasured, person. To think that she remembered, that she had practiced, that the sad love song that it had once been remembered and resented was now a carefully, beautifully, preserved aria brought tears to the witch’s eyes. But the thing about love though, was that it was never intended to be experienced, endured, and yearned for alone … and this love song was no different, the summon for her was sorely clear. 

Blinking away the few droplets that remained on her lashes, the lilac haired woman brought forth her wand, but unlike many of her fellow witches, hers did not light up, instead it wordlessly began to shift and twist in her hands, until finally, Croix could lightly rest the silver hallowed violin upon her shoulders, arms held up at the ready, bow not daring to come down until the moment was made clear. Closing her eyes, a deep breath passed in and out, notes that had been unplayed for what seemed like a lifetime swam in her head, and with it memories of nights spent under stars, distance that had been haunted by the touch of ethereal apparitions … the parts that were part of the conception of this unnamed piece she had given away. Yet, to think that it would be returned to her like this, to be given with tentative hands - with shy notes that had called to her - from a heart that she had never truly fell out of love with.

“You really are perfect,” Croix whispered, with lidded eyes, head tilting to cradle the string instrument as the enticing soprano gave way to the close of the beginning. Only a heartbeat after, Croix picked up on the dying chord, bow coming down to meet strings at last, pulling and weaving out notes that were just as quiet, just as shy, as the soprano had been moments before. Was it doubt that held her back, that held the heart that was required to see this piece through? As fingers moved, reading upon a relic within her memories, her striking emeralds moved, following the butterflies that had doubled in number, seemingly reflecting the color of her eyes. Through the sea of people, where the butterflies had taken home upon the shoulders, head and open space above the illuminated goddess, tears threatened to crush her once again when lidded, emotional red wines stared right back. 

As both piano and violin began to echo one another, when their eyes had yet to leave the other’s, Croix gave a great smile then, and succumbed to the silent plea that was just so transparent in the redhead’s eyes. After yet another closing, an end to the quiet build up, when Croix drew the bow across the string once again, her own butterflies, much smaller, much less animated, burst forth - drawing gasps and cries from those around her as she too were swarmed with the firefly like magic. She teased at the strings of her violin with a much stiller hand, a more controlled wrist, as Chariot continued to mend together a passage just as powerful, supporting and complementing, but Croix wasn’t done just yet … 

_“Spectra Sviesos”_ \- without a drop in concentration, or a need for speak the incantation, a distorting spell had been cast. For every string that been teased, every note that had been drawn out, an echo of it sprung forth, creating a harmony that further overpowered as Chariot herself began to pick up the speed of things, matching Croix note for note, heartbeat or heartbeat. With no further decrescendos or poetic closings, the two continued on, solely taken by their instrument, obliged to finish the song, an oath, they’d forsworn ages ago. When the butterflies - and Croix’s fireflies - all began to dissolve, scattering sparkling lights down onto their audience amongst the dark, delighted mummers were heard - and the two witches smiled in response. 

To know that one of her works would not cause ruin and destruction for once brought peace onto her heart, to further acknowledge that she had built a piece of love, had shed shame to proudly share it with others … that Chariot had waited all this time to do so with her began to truly heal the wounds closest to her heart. For the first time since those years of spiraling hate, she allowed herself to hope, to promise, and dream of later, a happy later with the redhead who had so successfully taken her heart and mind with but a glance. She promised to accept the love, and to reciprocate it with all her being.

As those in the banquet hall cowered, the two witch continued their duet, ignoring the foreign light that had brought itself into the hall, blinding all who dared to gaze upon it. When the harsh light died off, and they dared to open their eyes once more, both nearly missed their cues when it seemed as if the sky itself had fell upon them, into the hall. Left and right, stars, constellations, bright, but so obviously a phantom image flickered and wavered dizzily, all of space and it’s nebulas dusted every corner where despairing black had once been - a brief wonder into who could have done this was left alone as they continued to play through, accompany, this phenomenon. What both had failed to noticed was the pair of spirits that separated, each standing behind them, protectively, respectfully almost. 

Reaching just before the end, the grand climax, Chariot’s magic absolutely flooded the entire hall, her scent thick in the air, ready to cast something mind blowing to impress, and Croix was ready, having decided to match the redhead - if not in creativity, than at least in spirit. What neither noticed though, was that the anticipated jade color of Yggdrasil had not graced their efforts - instead auras of orange and aqua outlined them instead. 

Hitting the peak, a maelstrom of magic gathered just above all their heads, towering higher and higher, it’s shape vastly similar to that of an actual maelstrom, or whirlpool, until it all froze, excess magic pouring down harmlessly onto the masses below, leaving only the skeleton, the frame that shaped a maelstrom spiralling upwards. It looked much like that of a tree, frozen, broken, but devastatingly, chillingly, beautiful at it’s core. Just when the masses thought that it was done, they watched on as butterflies swarmed onto the bare, frozen tree, each fluttering wing slowly joining together until the tree of butterflies dipped in color - from jade to oranges and aqua. Alone, it was more than enough to cast light onto the entire hall again, but unlike the foreign entities behind each of them, it did not blind, it simply lent itself to share it’s glow with all that had gathered. 

As Chariot ended the piece, at last, with a final chirp of a soprano, silence had not reigned. Where the tree, the butterflies were, echoes of their song - Croix’s song - continued to faintly carry on, audible to anyone who took a moment to find it, ongoing as the pulsating glow of the butterflies indicated. While many fellow witches stood awe-struck, and many who had initially come forward to protest fell silent, claims and views of dangerous magic dispelled without contest, the two witches were quick to abandon their instruments, scrambling and stumbling to get to their feet, to tuck away their wand. 

Sensing their urgent, inevitable reunion, seas of black robes parted quickly, allowing the two to quickly make their way into each other’s arms. Chariot, having shed the blue hair, contacts, and her modest white dress solely for the sake of her performance, and very public - although significantly private - confession to Croix, leapt into open arms, pulling Croix in by the shoulders. At once, the italian witch’s hands found their way into fierce red hair, the other pulling the shorter witch as close as humanly possible by the waist, Croix bent her head down to press herself into the crook of Chariot’s neck - a poor attempt to hide both smile and tears, as the two began to nod and whisper confirmations, and laugh hysterically. 

“How did you … when? How long?” Croix sobbed happily. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Chariot replied, tearing up, but a proud, loving smile graced her face. “My love for Croix, it gives me more than just magic, love is a stronger kind of magic, I heard that it can give some people happy endings,” a cheeky, tear stained grin.

Without further ado - no more excuses, lingering doubts, or uncertainties existed - they pulled back, only to burn each other with a loving, smouldering glance before pulling each other close once again, this time, lips pressed against one another, softly, but firmly. The two would remain engaged until concerned parties tapped onto their shoulders, but until then the two finally understood what it felt like to soar without the aid of magic, with only the strength of pure love. 

While the two basked in their love - at long last - the two spirits rushed past them all, a lingering touch upon both their chosens before they left quietly, unnoticed, unlike their entrance. 

…

“I can’t believe they did that for everyone to see,” Amanda commented hovering over the crouching group who had a front row seat to the drama that played out on one of the tablets from Croix’s class. 

“I don’t think they anticipated someone recording the event,” Diana replied dryly, knowing that such affairs were often planned to remain as private as possible.

Sneering, Amanda shot back quickly, “Yeah, you’re right, who needs a recording of them like that when you can get a free show of it everyday when you catch them walk past each other in the hall?” Before anymore could be said, Akko stood up suddenly, pulled her head back and gave the American witch one hell of a headbutt. 

“Don’t talk about them like that, Amanda! You’re just jealous that they’re in love, and that they …,” she sniffed, getting emotional, “managed to tell each other in such a romantic way, too. How is a girl not supposed to fall in love with that!” She asked, pointing at the screen, where again a pan from Chariot on the piano and Croix to the other side of the room, violin tucked onto her shoulder were staring at each with expressive longing clear on their face. 

“Tch … they probably practiced …” Amanda continued, hands cupping her nose where it had taken the most damage. 

“No way!” Akko jumped once again, though Diana’s hand on her arm prevented her from headbutting anyone else this time. “I asked Professor Chariot myself,” she declared proudly, “Professor Croix can play a whole bunch of instruments, she’s the one who taught Professor Chariot anyway! The song they're playing? It was Professor Croix who wrote it … well, she wrote it and gave it to her, but they never played it together until now - ‘cause apparently Professor Chariot was … how did she say it again?” Akko turned to Diana. 

“... It was simply beyond Professor Chariot’s ability at the time to play it as a duet with Professor Croix back then,” Diana continued, quite obviously censoring what Akko would have otherwise tried to say. 

“Yeah! So, Chariot finally managed to play it perfectly, and to share the song back with Professor Croix,” Akko sighed before squealing, “so romantic! Chariot is definitely the best, in magic and being super romantic, so cool~” 

“I’m more interested in the freaky light show,” Sucy dryly commented, pausing the video, “looks like an explosion - like when Akko fails her potion brewing - but why was it hiding spirits … Lotte?”

“Eh? I don’t … spirits are different from faeries!” 

“Who cares? Maybe they thought that it was super romantic too and had to support them, too!” 

“Akko, they’re dead. The dead probably have more important business than quietly shipping our teachers together.” 

… 

“Where do you want me to begin?” Finneran growled menacing down at the two witches who had blown up the internet once again overnight. “Complete overuse of magic? The frivolous display? This … affection between the two of you, that you just had to make public? Or perhaps how you still think flying was made so that you could skip walking up the steps like a proper person?” 

Sadly, she had already lost them when she mentioned their newfound relationship. Glazed eyes, schoolgirl-like fidgeting, bashful blush … Finneran only sighed. 

Holbrooke chuckled from her seat, “Well … I suppose I did tell them to have fun, Anne,” she confessed, “and they certainly followed that instruction beautifully,” she laughed ignoring Finneran’s louder sigh. “Little Croix’s report before they set off already provided more than enough information to satisfy me - and some other concerned parties who were curious and interested. And after what had happened, Ziva - the headmistress - was certainly much more forthcoming with answers when I sent the apology letter on their behalf.” 

That managed to catch their attention. 

“Does that mean they’ve identified the spirits?” Chariot asked, “I tried asking Woodward about it, but …” she grimace. 

“Apparently our descriptions of ‘orange, blue, wispy, and really bright’ don’t exactly make much sense,” Croix finished for her, shifting her weight so that she could cross her arms, and lean on one leg for comfortably. 

“Have you ever heard of Utrennyaya and Vechernyaya?” Holbrooke asked them, voice betraying that she herself had little clue about it herself. Croix was quick to shake her head, a language she didn’t understand, spirits she had no interest in - the situation was out of her area of expertise despite her deep knowledge in most generics of magic, and then some. However, Chariot seemed to test the words on her tongue, head tilting before she provided an answer for the witches present. 

“Morning Star … and Evening Star?” she ventured, a nod towards Finneran who nodded as well, both at least aware of the language it came from. “If it’s what I think it is I think I’ve come across the names before … when I was interested in learning of the Ursa Minor and all …” the redhead blushed, no doubt ashamed at the balant curiosity she held as a child, although Croix downright swooned. 

“Well … that’s certainly more than what I’ve already gathered myself,” Holbrooke admitted, “while their names were given, there wasn’t all that much else important - other than what you’ve shared with me concerning the conflict you both stopped. I suppose as long as nothing horrible happens, we won’t have to worry too much about it!” 

“That’s irresponsible! Especially when it’s these two who are … where did they go?” 

“Oh my.” 

… 

In a relatively unused hallway, hidden from light, and particularly hard to navigate through, a certain redhead was pushed against the wall, though not unwillingly. A smile and blush were both present on her face as the warm body of her lover pressed against her, trapping her, a nose dipped forward, teasing her own. 

Stifling her giggles for just a moment, she couldn’t help but to ask, “Shouldn’t we have at least left a note … an apology maybe?” 

“Really?” An amused voice drawled, “here I am offering to show you some magic, maybe even perform with you … but if you are interested in learning about the weird spirit that told you that you were cute then by all means,” the lilac haired witch teased, making as if she were pulling back when frantic hands all but tore the collar of her shirt, trying to reel her in. What resulted was a passionate, frenzied kiss, both witches lovingly caressing soft, swollen lips with their own - hands softly running through locks and untamed knots, with careful strokes. It was a horrible habit they’d fallen into ever since their return to Luna Nova, much to the chagrin of many - or everyone except for Akko who often rooted for them loudly whenever they passed on by. 

… In their defense, they had a decades worth of time to make up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my worst entry by far, but I hope that at least a single moment stood out for you and all. I'll update these end notes once I get enough sleep. If you liked this piece, please please please tell me so, because after this there's probably no way I'll venture out to write something of this magnitude again - or something as indulgent - unless I get some sort of positive feedback from this attempt, or at least directions on where I need to fix shit. 
> 
> Thanks, take care y'all.


	9. French Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akko centric - but only because her moms are too busy with one another, and their young daughter should definitely get to know her mother's roots better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short - but hopefully sweet. Hints of Diakko, but I hesitate in adding that tag on since that ship will never take up much - or any - space in this collection. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments here and on my tumblr concerning chapter 8 - it took me a few days but I also began to see just what I've exactly created, and I'm more than happy with it, and it's all thanks to you guys - so I hope that I can continue to deliver these small improvements of my creations over time - you all deserve it.

Akko found that she was a very fortunate girl. To be able to live her dreams - becoming a witch, meeting, saving and befriending Shiny Chariot - and surround herself with friends who were all very much invested in her well being, it was truly all she ever asked for in life. Aside from riches and convenience of course. Lately though, the brunette had been experiencing … turbulent feelings, fleeting at times, persistent at other times. Akko was very much someone who lived in the present, built sturdy from a fulfilling childhood, and uncaring of bridges that had yet to even come in sight - let alone be crossed. Such confusion, the very idea of contemplating what they meant or how they would inevitably change her life did not interest her one bit. 

But that was hardly the truth - she was scared, terrorized really, by the number of unknown variables that had come in the short time she spent speculating … just trying to imagine what her change of heart meant. Thus, she decided she would go and investigate on her own and when that yielded unsatisfactory results, she decided that she would simply go and ask the professors whom she trusted and viewed as a maternal figure. 

On one cold morning though, Akko knew that she had severely miscalculated. Professor Croix was a woman who honestly couldn’t even begin to explain or describe what eight o'clock looked, sounded or smelt like. Despite seeing the lilac haired witch dragging her legs down the halls, Akko knew very well that there was a high possibility that the older witch was sleep walking - any attempt to make contact with her wouldn’t be remembered or coherent at all. That probably also meant that Professor Chariot wasn’t in her room either, most likely out for a run after chasing Professor Croix from her room. Typical. 

“Ah … this is the worst,” Akko muttered, kicking a pebble under her foot as she pouted in disappointment. Watching the helpless rock meet it’s horrible fate as a plaything could only entertain her for so long - or keep her presence hidden for so long. Eventually a pair of legs stepped into view right before her next kick, and she was forced to tilt her head back, to identify who had found her. “Oh! Diana, good morning!” Akko greeted, hiding fidgeting hands behind her back - the only betrayal that spoke of her nervousness. 

The blonde heiress blinked, reprimand fleeing her mind at the moment to respond to the morning greeting, “Good morning Akko, is there something wrong?” She asked, looking pointedly down at the rock between the two of them. 

“Oh! That … ah, well I had a question for Professor Croix - or Professor Chariot, whoever I found first really - but they’re both … not here.” Akko explained, leaning to the side, shooting the still very much unaware Professor Croix a look of unmuted disappointed. However, just as she were about to stick her tongue out, a flash of red rounded the corner, and a grin split upon Akko’s face, prompting Diana to turn as well. 

“There she is! Now I-”

Before anyone could do anything though, both students watched with wide eyes as the redhead laughed - giggled really - and with two of her pale palms cupped Professor Croix’s cheeks, an affectionate stroke of her thumb circled once, twice, before the shorter leaned forward and pressed her puckered lips against a smooth cheek. Pulling back, three of the four witches were blushing, but none were able to look away from the loving, smoldering, completely inappropriate gaze that the redhead directed at the lilac haired witch - even if the older witch was trying to her best to avert her bleary gaze. 

“S-So bold …” Akko remarked, completely taken aback. Then again, she thought, as expected of her mentor, who once held the name Shiny Chariot. The redhead was so confident, so sure that her love was accepted, reciprocated, so forward, so daring to venture through the murky waters that was love. There was a great amount of respect that went to her Professor, who so easily shed shame, or hesitance, all in the name of love. Even if she hadn’t done so in the name of love, Akko knew that there was much to learn and perhaps even … she turned to Diana, who was still very much taken by the scene in front of them. 

As if sensing the brunette’s indecent train of thought, Diana was quick to swing her head towards Akko, lip trembling from … something, as she was frantic to explain one thing to her. 

“S-she’s French!” And when Akko expressed confusion, the blonde continued, “In France, it’s normal to greet … friends, family, even strangers like that. It’s completely innocent, nothing … lewd,” the star student continued, though she pointedly did not chance a glance back at the two professors, although it seemed that her peer had no such reservations, turning her head back without a second thought - so intrusive - and her confused expressed remained. 

Of course, Diana knew that Akko was not as much of a lost cause as many so often accused her of being, and patiently waited - it gave her ample time to settle the beating of her heart while she did so anyway. How could she have forgotten that close proximity with the brunette - no matter the situation - was often dangerous for her?

“Diana, you’re really smart and all … and I’ll probably somehow lose this argument, but I really can’t find it in me to believe you … unless, that,” the brunette pointed, “is also a greeting in France?” Against her better decision, Diana followed the brunette’s arm - pointing right at the two professors who were locked in an aggressively passionate - wildly fierce - lip lock, a distinct lack of care to their surroundings was also noted, however unwillingly by the blonde. A few more seconds passed on by, Akko, who was growing more and more impatient, and Diana, who sadly was unable to compute much of anything, were forced to hear more than one suggestive … comment and sound before the blonde hauled them both away. 

“Wait! You didn’t answer my question, Diana!” 

“Y-You’re going to ask them something later anyway, you can ask them then!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a 1/3 chapter update - because I feel like a asshole for not posting in such a long time.


	10. Our Time I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You aren’t Croix,” the redhead stated, with such certainty, a tint of steel, in her voice. Whoever it was that had arrived in such a spectacular manner was certainly similar to Croix - a distant relative maybe ... 
> 
> > In which regrets are confronted, and addressed, in the only way Chariot knows how to: with the power of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulging in the fact that I derail from my usual straight and proper dialogue - so it's a little silly, but I suppose older people often have that kind of luxury. Forgive me if cheesy dialogue makes you cringe - I so often try to avoid it myself. 
> 
> ** THIS IS 2/3 OF OCTOBER 1 UPDATES, IF YOU STARTED HERE, GO BACK ONE JUST IN CASE **

When a cloud of smoke erupted without warning, Chariot had her wand out immediately, held in a reverse grip least she accidentally harm one of her students. Bringing an arm up to cover her nose, she tried her best to peek through the dense layers of grey ashes, ignoring the startled cries of the students fleeing the room from all around, she narrowed her eyes in an attempt to identify whoever it was that would personally get a severe dressing down from herself once panic had died down. 

What she hadn’t expected was to find Croix Meridies sitting in the middle of the disaster once the room had been cleared. However … 

“You aren’t Croix,” the redhead stated, with such certainty, a tint of steel, in her voice. Whoever it was that had arrived in such a spectacular manner was certainly similar to Croix - a distant relative maybe - the lilac hair was a giveaway, and those striking emeralds were all certainly very ‘Croix’ but that was where the similarities came to an end. The woman’s fringes resembled Croix’s style - would have if it wasn’t twice as long as the older witch’s current cut, and while Chariot would never outwardly insult Croix’s appearance in any way, she knew that the Italian witch was lithe, a tad bit thin, and looked very fragile beneath her dashing red cape, and belts. Whoever this woman was, she had a very attractive, highly feminine form - curved, soft, and … full. 

Then again, it was easy to identify this since she had but a simple t-shirt, shorts, and an array of bandages wrapped around her from head to toe. Neck, forearms, ankles, torso, and shoulder - and those were the immediate ones that Chariot could identify. Just who was this gravely injured woman who bore such resemblance to Croix? 

When the woman didn’t answer, coughing lightly, Chariot gave her a moment to recollect herself before her wand came up again, this time pointed at the stranger. “Who are you?” 

“Ch-Chariot?” The woman asked, head turned towards her, and narrowed red eyes watched as confusion slowly morphed to delight as the lilac haired woman was quick to get to her - bare - feet, wrapped arms opening up. With every step the lilac haired woman took, Chariot responded with a step back, and when her back eventually hit the wall, her wand lit up, an aura of jade spilling brightly between the two of them - though that hardly deterred the lilac haired witch. 

“Fandav-”

“Nihazona” 

Red eyes widened. There were very few witches who still excelled in combat spells, much less the application of them to the level the redhead had brought hers to. Whoever this mysterious woman was … somehow matched her. No, the redhead dreaded, perhaps she was even better. Wandless magic, a direct [Retain] to her [Withhold] - without tearing her pieces while she was at it, and two weren’t even aligned offense and defense spells! 

When a pale, scarred, hand drew close, the redhead flinched, head snapping the other way in muted fear. Whatever she feared did not take place though, as she felt her hair being swept to the side, shifting, and eventually uncovering a small patch of skin above her ear. A horrible blush reached her ears - just who the hell did she think she was?! What kind of person just goes and -

“There. That scar, when a Nachtigall settled onto your shoulders, you were so happy … even when its wings clipped you there,” the lilac haired woman explained, her voice seductive - unintentionally, Chariot reassured herself - as a finger feathered the scar that was long gone, but Chariot remembered it all the same. The same feather light tracing that her Croix so often did when she was lost in her thoughts. 

Whatever she had to say to the horribly forward woman was lost when she took yet another step forward, their bodies pressed together so inappropriately. Abandoning her wand without a thought, the redhead pressed the heel of her palms against sturdy shoulders, though heavily wrapped, and jerked her arms straight - keep any possible distance with the infuriating mystery even as a fierce blush, from anger of course, bloomed. All her work simply earned her an amused smile, eyes that were lidded with barely concealed delight. Disgusting. 

“Who are you?” She asked once more, growled really, and bared her teeth, gritting them as hard as she could, as her question went unanswered once again. Instead, the hand that was still pressed against her scalp, cupping her ear, moved further back, until it rested directly at the back of her scalp - no way. 

Drawing her hand back, a very satisfying ring of a slap rang clear in the room. The redhead took a moment to savor the small victory, but it was short lived as she saw the woman merely smiled, and though her head had snapped in the direction that she was slapped in - emerald eyes found hers with ease.

“Definitely Chariot … fiery as ever, beautiful … and cute,” the woman remarked, using her free hand to nurse the reddening cheek. “Can’t you recognize me? I’m older sure, but no one else would dare to do this,” the woman paused, a sudden dark, flinty tint glazing over admittedly mischievous emeralds, “would they?” 

Startled by the sudden change from the playful mood, Chariot remained silent, arms going slack until the woman seemed to collect herself, and took advantage of the speechless Chariot. Leaning forward without contest this time, the lilac haired woman brought herself as close as she dared, just short of brushing noses, a smile of ease, the very picture of innocence presented. “What am I saying … as if I’d let my princess take any other hand other than my own,” the woman preened. 

“Oh my god.” 

The two woman turned their heads, the lilac haired woman’s expresion lazily casual, whereas Chariot knew that her face was red enough to give her hair a run for its money. The epitome of guilt and frantic disbelief - incriminating considering it was Akko who managed to walk into such a scene. And what a telling scene it was. A mysterious Croix-look-alike who managed to wedge herself between her legs, pressing her against the wall in the most provocative manner possible - if it was Chariot who had walked in on such a scene, a Murowa would have already been thrown into the room. 

“Ch-Cheati-”

“No! It’s not-”

“How could … Professor Croix … ? Does she-”

“It’s not what it-”

“It’s exactly what it looks it~”

“Shut up you animal!” 

A headbutt, another slap and a trip to the infirmary later, the story was finally revealed. 

“We just knew that Professor Croix disappeared somewhere and thought you should know first,” Akko explained sheepishly, “but I guess I was so shocked that I didn’t even remember it myself. Sorry,” the brunette dipped her head, but was quick to lift it up when a gentle hand ran through her long hair in a comforting manner. 

“It’s alright … I was trying to identify our guest when things … got out of hand,” the redhead reassured her pupil, a faint blush rising when the unspeakable-incident came back to mind. “Now that we know it’s just Croix, I guess we just have to wait until this fixes itself, or someone can bring back some good research results.” 

“What do you mean ‘It’s Just Croix’,” the lilac haired woman moaned childishly, and when both witches turned down to the older woman, they were taken aback by the tears that had gathered in the corner of her red rimmed emeralds, the devastated expression that dwelled in those older, wiser, orbs. “Baby, do I mean nothing to you, still? Even after … have I yet to earn your love and forgiveness?!” Chariot choked, there was just something that was so alluring, so beautiful about the way Croix - this older Croix - cried, yearned so desperately for any scrap of affection she could find. So unlike the hesitant, the careful Croix she was used to.

“Y-You aren’t the Croix I know! Stop saying such embarrassing things!” 

“Tell me what you want me to be! I will be anything for you!” 

“Shut up!” 

The next few days were simply torturous. The older Croix flat out refused to accompany anyone but Chariot herself, to the point where the lilac haired witch continuously persuaded the redhead into holding hands, or draped an arm across her shoulders when the redhead refused. There was a particular element of protectiveness, possessiveness perhaps, that the redhead - and everyone else - was unused to experiencing with the usual lilac haired lover. 

It gave Chariot mixed feelings - though the leading one was definitely annoyed. As much as she had dreamed of reaching that level of comfort and openness with Croix - she imagined doing so with her own Croix, finding pure joy and unaided elation in achieving each of those milestones. To have it all served up on a platter like this … it ruined nearly everything. 

“Is there a reason why you feel the need to continuously dote on me?” Chariot asked one day, when the two were left to walk as they pleased. A warm black scarf wrapped around her neck securely, one of the things that she had painstakingly retrieved from the mess that was her Croix’s laboratory. 

A lazy smile flashed, “No other intention other than to treat you right, but would you readily believe just words? You’ve always distanced yourself, to properly come up with your own judgement concerning new variables, what have you come to believe so far?” the older witch prompted.

“I don’t know what you mean,” the redhead immediately replied, brows knitted together.

“Mm, then how about this then,” older Croix stopped, arm pulled forward as Chariot herself took just one more step forward. “Since you’re younger and just a bit weaker than the usual brute I have in my apartment, I know I can get away with a lot worse,” the lilac haired witch said, with an absolutely savage, borderline lustful, grin adorning her face. 

A raised hand threatened to be brought down upon older Croix’s cheeks once more - but the playful woman was quick to raise both hands up in a quick surrender. It was then that Chariot recognized the playfully-defeated expression, the absolute exaggeration that concealed … 

“Regret,” she breathed, and older Croix seemed to have been ready for the assessment, but what the older witch did not expect was for an onslaught of tears that threatened to break loose. As if instinctively in tune with the turbulent emotions that ravaged her mind, Croix anchored herself and pulled the redhead into her arms, practiced hands, knowledgeable hands, stroking at her back in the most comforting way possible, somehow aiding her fight to keep her tears at bay. But Chariot fought against the comfort, “Does Croix … do you not love me anymore? Is this just something to comfort me, to somehow fix the future?” She asked brokenly. “I refuse to be part of that! If … If you really have,” she choked, she couldn’t say it, admit it even if it may be true, “ … then-”

“The only thing I will always regret, and never forgive myself for, is wasting all this time not properly loving you,” Croix cut through quietly, but just as powerful as any roar, any declaration. Pulling back, the lilac haired witch delicately wiped away clinging tears with the softest brushes of her fingers. “I’m hardly responsible for this switch - but my own regret, the one thing I’ve been given the opportunity to fix … how could I not take advantage of it?” the older Croix asked, just as brokenly, as her hands began to shakily brush long crimson hair. “How long you must have waited … for even the smallest of affections, unprompted, genuine - to be swept off your feet like I promised all those years ago, well you were asleep, but still,” the older witch chuckled. 

“... and if I don’t mind it?” Chariot sniffled, “If I don’t mind waiting, if I don’t mind waiting forever for Croix - would that change anything?” 

A short exhale, “No. I’m sorry. This regret remains.” 

“Then I’ll deny it. I’ll deny you with every part of me,” Chariot promised, “because I do not remember any instance I spent with Croix to be anything less, nor was there anything missing. To me, every moment, every second with Croix is absolutely perfect, even if you claim otherwise. Even if I have to wait for Croix, I will do so while holding her hand - and I won’t allow you to ruin that decision - for me, or for her.”

A huff, an exasperated smile, but so fond, so warm, so unreal. 

“I couldn’t love you more, Chariot du Nord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** THIS IS 2/3 OF OCTOBER 1 UPDATES, IF YOU STARTED HERE, GO BACK ONE JUST IN CASE **
> 
> > I swear to the overlord I have the exact picture of older Croix in mind. Just you wait until I get my hands on a fucking digital device that allows me to draw.   
> > Shoot me an obnoxious ' :^) ' if your older Croix headcanon would mercilessly tease a younger (present) Chariot - I can't be the only one.


	11. Our Time II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a distinct memory of going to bed with only an unopened ramen cup as her companion. So how did it grow into Chariot overnight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulging in the fact that I derail from my usual straight and proper dialogue - this one is extremely silly, short, and likely out of character, but I enjoyed myself thoroughly while writing this. This also brings us to the second and an end to [Our Time]. 
> 
> ** THIS IS 3/3 OF OCTOBER 1 UPDATES, IF YOU STARTED HERE, GO BACK ONE/TWO JUST IN CASE **

When was the last time she actually set an alarm clock? Croix couldn’t help but to wonder as the familiar rings of an infuriating device echoed both from her past and beside her ear. In one swift movement, an elbow was quickly introduced to the disturbance - at last, peace. Satisfied with her work, the lilac haired woman returned to her slumber, burrowing further into soft pillows and cocooning herself into the blanket wrap she had encased herself within. Or at least that was the plan until she realized that there wasn’t enough blanket to actually wrap herself in. 

“I let you into my bed, and this happens … again?” Croix muttered sleepily, irritation sharpening steadily, knowing exactly who would dare to withhold her essential sleeping items from her with such disregard to her … everything. Of course, correct as usual, she was not surprised to see the fierce red hair flying in every direction on her other pillow, nor the fact that more than half the blankets had been taken away from her. Not that it would be a problem if they cuddled … but now that the lilac haired witch had a moment to actually sit and think, she couldn’t help but to note how she had absolutely no idea how this situation came to be. 

There was a distinct memory of going to bed with only an unopened ramen cup as her companion. So how did it grow into Chariot overnight? 

Details. 

Finding her way into the arms of the dream-Chariot - because what else could it have been - Croix Meridies found peace once more. Not that it lasted long. Within minutes, the dreadful alarm rang once more, but how could it be so when she had successfully annihilated it already? Did it call for backup? Reinforcements? How fucking annoying. 

Bouncing up once again - Croix searched high and low for the motherfucker, and clicked her tongue in annoyance when she realized that it was Chariot’s clock that was set at such an absurd time. The only thing more annoying than that was the fact that the redhead was directly in the way of any of her attempts to turn it off. What was a girl to do? 

Ripping the sheets violently from the redhead, Croix had quite the speech prepared, a tongue lashing so harsh - consisting purely of growls, groans, glares and high pitch whining noises - that she was sure that the redhead would weep - but it all died and wandered off into the oblivion when she realized that just how much Chariot she got to introduce herself to. Smooth, pale, skin - all exposed, no thanks to Croix’s own actions - and not a shred of clothing in sight. Her eyes strayed and wondered, unashamed, from the red markings peppered onto that long slender neck, down to a pair of enticing breasts and further down … 

“Oh my god,” the lilac haired witch shrieked as she threw herself backwards. There had been thought of covering the redhead once again - but what the fuck was the point. She had already sinned, trying to cover up that masterpiece was just another crime under her name at this point, the only thing she could do was to try and throw herself as far as possible from the epitome of temptation and innocence that laid before her. “When the hell did you take to sleeping au naturel?” 

“Mm,” the redhead opened one eye, devious intentions clear as her lips drew back in the most seductive curl to date, “so angry … are you still unsatisfied from last night?” the redhead purred, most wantonly and Croix had no idea how she was suppose to respond to that. Laugh? Cry? Demand where her ramen cup went? There was something wrong here, and Croix was partially certain that this was a nightmare of some sort - some divine punishment for … well, pick from the list, she supposed. 

“Ku-Ro-Wa~” Lifting her head once again, Croix was not prepared for the firm grip on her forearm, the intense longing in those normally innocent red eyes, or the nude form of Chariot crawling over to her without concern to humility, modesty … anything! It was as if the innocent angel had been corrupted by some dangerously, wild little firecracker. 

“Stop!” The witch cried, “stop, stop, stop! Back up!” 

“Croix?” 

“A dream … this has to be a dream, who the fuck fed me the Dreamer Plant? No wait … I’m not stupid enough to eat that, sober or not, it stinks …” Croix turned back to Chariot who remained a healthy distance with a chagrin look upon her face. “C-Can you please … cover up, I …” without any need for further words, the previously abandoned blanket was wrapped around the redhead, who continued to appraise Croix quietly. “Ok … list of nightmare spells … the strongest, the one I’d fall to … Gemeinde … or Daimōn even?”

“Croix,” a gentle voice broke through, though Croix only hummed in acknowledgement still afraid of what she would find should she return her gaze. “I just realized … your hair is shorter, like from years ago short.” 

“...I haven’t had a haircut since … before the missile crisis.” 

“That was also years ago …” 

“...Eh.” 

“Oh~” the redhead realized with a sudden playful shift in the mood, “So I’m meeting with an innocent, virgin Croix? How forward of you to have come this far for me,” she giggled. How dare-

“When did you turn out to be such a pervert?!” 

“How is it perverted, it’s love! Are you saying that my love for you is dirty?!” 

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Chariot du Nord! Come on, we have to find out how to set things right before something terrible happens,” the lilac haired witch groaned. “And … I admit that I’m happy … that I can find myself waking up … to you, to this, that this is something normal but … it’s not for me, not yet.” 

“As long as I don’t have to wait ten more years to make a proper woman out of you, I can forgive you,” Chariot teased, poking the younger Croix’s chest playfully. “Come on, I’m sure you have some tongue twisting notes back in your office to look through, do you want me to show you the way, you so often praise me for being an amazing escort.” 

“I can’t believe you’ve made me a pervert too, you’re the worst underclassmen ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** THIS IS 3/3 OF OCTOBER 1 UPDATES, IF YOU STARTED HERE, GO BACK ONE/TWO JUST IN CASE **
> 
> I'm not sure how ratings go. Like if I typed 'boob' should I bump the rating up to an M? Someone tell me before the whole thing gets taken down please. Thank you for taking the time to read through these, I hope you all take care - leave a comment: Older Chariot or Older Croix?
> 
> And I just realized if this wasn't clear enough, by Older I mean like ... post-missile-future, when Akko and the gang are actual respected adults in society kind of future.


	12. Measure of Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul Series [1/?] - Dramatic Shorts that outline the AU world I'm too scared to actually write out. It's also got a bit of a Halloween vibe. 
> 
> Croix is the Reaper of Sins - collecting the souls of those who have committed horrible wrongs, enslaving them to an afterlife of servitude until she ends their sentence - by eating them! One night though, she stumbles upon something which doesn't exactly belong to her. A prologue, to be honest.

All was quiet in the dark halls of the Lockson estate, lights and candles remained untouched, curtains were tightly pulled, and paintings stood at their sides dutifully. Every inch of white marble tiles had been notably scrubbed clean, and even more impressive was how such efforts had clearly extended to stretch out to both East and West wings of the lifeless home. Far beyond the peaceful pretense, past pristine luxuries and flawless arrangements, was a door - far older, scarred, and darker than any other. Unremarkable, save for the fact that it remained open whereas any other door refused to grant passage. 

Kept safe inside the opened lock, was a picture painted altogether too gruesome, too cruel, too foul, filthy - a picture too true, something entirely too human to be presented alongside the false treasures that so proudly lined the walls, and decorated the pearly white pillars at the front doors. Where white had deceptively painted floor and ceiling, what lied beyond the door - the gate before sin and secrets - was only covered in the darkest of red. 

But she was no stranger, no innocent, that would shy away from the red that held tragedy and crime. In a flurry of hasty, angular, shadows - a tide that surged above the stilled red sea, and spiraled into physical manifestation - a silent announcement dawned, though there were none to receive it. Undeterred, she curled her clawed hands, covered in the darkest of shadows, and held a palm upwards, expectantly. Rewarding her patience, a harrowing clash of metals howled fiercely for it’s attentive audience of one, betraying its existence upon the molding walls, it revealed itself to slither, each link of its entirety grinding recklessly upon old and weak wood. 

Another wispy arm came up, though the opened palm remained unmoving, the only sign of impatience the spectre gave away. In response, each individual link stilled, grumbling, grinding, lowly as their bladed edge glinted in wait. Before a blanket of silence truly settled, before the last echos of sundering wood and plaster came to an end, the chains sang together one blood curling cheer as they clashed, and coiled, metal tearing into their prey as much as one another, until red bled onto their rusted, but layered, shells.

A lowered hand, an expectant shift in the woman's shadow, and before long, the hundreds of coiled chains parted just before the tip of their mistress’ sharpened claws, reeling back with such haste, it ought to be taken as fear, or even respect to the uninformed. Nonetheless, without the hundreds of black bladed chains smothering their prey it was clear to identify it with much more intensity. 

Ominously red, dusty at its edges, a wisp, and yet it had the ability to bleed all the same. Perhaps not as human blood tended to, yet fluids of a sort licked at the metals of her chosen weapons all the same. It was weakened prey, it was a festering ball of hatred, cowardice, and incompetence. Instinct demanded that she cradle it with her tongue, and sink her teeth in, insurmountable satisfaction awaiting with just one sample - yet duty guaranteed that she would keep this dessert at arms length, to only consume when the time had come to pass for the sinful soul. 

Beckoning the chain closest to her, she watched on as its heavy links settled around her arm, tying itself onto her body of shadows, before it engulfed the molten red soul. Aside from the rattling anthem, a celebration, a crowing victory for dark, inky, instruments of reaping, the only sound of protest came from the red imprisoned soul - however drowned its unintelligible yowling was, it persisted, though it only seemed to encourage further ringing and clattering - hell, it even brought forth a sneering glance from their beloved mistress! 

Seeing as her responsibilities had been fulfilled, the woman of shadows, and her many servants turned to the hanging doors once more - yet before serious consideration was heeded, she stopped - a hiss, and all stood poised, delighted that another would dare to approach, that another would be ensnared in their relentless assault. 

“No.” 

Oh the shock, her servants would have protested! To think a meal would go uncontested! Yet, her servants were not as dull as she feared, and they too, recognized that this was not food - nor was it another prisoner to add to their list of damned. No, their meals were of bitter, ashy, hateful souls - red, from the blood they spilled, stole and unjustly tainted. Before them though, was a soul so bright, they knew not how to approach, or proply address. An azure soul, amongst a room coated in drying crimson, so out of place, such irregularity! The sole question that remained was if such keen brightness had a place among the other prisoners she already held.

Sweeping forward, past the middle and front lines of chains that were quick to bow out of the way for their mistress, a clawed hand reached out, but drew short. Ghosting the tips of her claws around the quivering soul - scared, she had seen, but shy, non confrontational, was unheard of, unseen - a decision had to be made. Her servants, blades and ropes honed to hunt and tame, remained silent, the decision to maim or retreat meant little to them after all, especially when another already sat unwilling within their grasp. Pressing forward, the azure lit up almost blindingly, a face and lilac most prominently displayed the closer she drew near. 

It was as if the light had drawn the dear reaper into a trance, had the dark borne reaper, starved of light, found herself curious enough, bold enough, to seek it out? The concept of light was a known one, but to witness and judge firsthand was a luxury she hardly had the time to properly investigate, or to seek out by her own volition. However, just before she decided she was hardly above licking the azure wonder - a taste test if you will - a maddening howl resonated with every core of her shadowy manifestation. The rebellious, angered, red soul positively brightened in fury, though it was no match for her servants, soldiers that leashed the sinful to their sentences, it was just a joy to see that this particular soul would prove to be an absolutely sensational meal when the time drew close. 

Drawing back from the unnatural soul, the entire mystery forgotten when anger flooded and twisted, the lilac haired reaper turned, head tilted towards the red menace chained onto her shadows, as her servants began to retreat into their own shadows. One last glance at the bobbing azure soul, and the lilac haired witch gave a mocking lecture to the red annoyance, nearly trembling in it’s anger, “I am the heir of the thrashing and howling army, she who conducts the legion, the mayhem - obedience, and complacency sours my every waking moment. Thrive, howl, dare to flee, strike at me whenever I loosen your leash just enough! May you dogs amuse me well before your sentences are due, collecting trash like the lot of you so often sets me into such unforgiving and punishing moods,” and with otherworldly echos of hysterics and a roar of defiance slipping over and through white unstained lies, the Lockson estate was as empty, and lifeless, as it was left to be once again.


End file.
